Moonlight Mischief
by Etimire T
Summary: Between Quidditch practice, pranking, Hermione Granger, detention (or, rather, gettting out of it), and, not to mention, helping the escaped convict Sirius Black, Fred Weasley doesn't have time to be a werewolf. But such is his new life, and he can't laugh it off this time.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: Alright guys, here's the deal. I'm completely hopeless and have too many ideas for my own good. I honestly (not even joking) dreamed the general concept of this fic, and after that, there was nothing I could do but spend hours and hours writing fifty ruddy pages of this fantastic ridiculousness. That's not to say that this story follows the weird plot of the dream, which had involved Harry melodramatically chasing Voldemort though a whirlpool bog while Fred and George were just like**_ **forget you all, we're werewolves** _ **. But, eh, yeah. Anyway. Here is it. I've never seen a Fred and George central fic (which is a crime. Really, guys.) While Harry and the lot will feature, they aren't the focus. Sorrynotsorry. Enjoy!**_

 _ **Oh, and I obviously don't own Harry Potter and there is no way on the planet I'd actually be able to make money out of their weird ol' tale.**_

 _ **That said... now you may read :))**_

* * *

He would be fully capable of making light of the situation around anyone else but George. As it was, his twin brother was the only one he dared to speak of it, and he couldn't be bothered to lie.

"This is going to be the end of us," Fred said simply.

George rolled his eyes. "No, don't be stupid."

"I'm being serious."

George cringed, his nose wrinkling as if he'd just said something obscene. "Oh, ew. That's not natural."

"Since when do you get to boss me around?"

"Since you started moping about like a wet cat."

"I'm not-" Fred shook his head. "Fine." He attempted to stare very hard at his hands but ended up smiling when George nudged him.

"You don't even know for sure yet, Fred."

Fred cast him a deadpan look.

George rolled his eyes. "Look, I did something to cheer you up." He glanced out the window and Fred's gaze followed it. Quickly, he untangled himself from his blankets and pressed his nose against the glass. The air was cold outside, November finally showing her shiverish nature. The glass fogged with his breath. "The exploding dino?"

"Yup." George grinned. "Watch. That window."

Fred watched. The night was cloudy, and only the smallest sliver of a moon lit up the lawn that drooped down to the lake. In the distance, the vague forms of the Dementors could be seen, making Fred shiver involuntarily. He turned his gaze from them. Across the lawn, Fred and George had a perfect view into Snape's office window, which was just above the ground. Suddenly, the window lit up with blue light and an outraged shout reached them from the opposite side of the school. Fred and George collapsed in laughter.

"Will you two shut it!" a sleepy voice grunted from across the room, making it necessary for George to chuck a pillow at the fun killer's head.

Fred grinned and jumped back in bed. George followed suit and they met eyes. "It's going to be okay," George whispered, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight, bringing Fred's attention back to the issue at hand. "We'll figure it out."

The scariest thing was that Fred could tell George didn't really believe that. Soon George was asleep but Fred stayed up, staring at the sliver of the moon.

* * *

 _Two days earlier_

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Fred whispered, tapping his wand against the blank parchment. Instantly black ink spilled over the surface and reformed into the brilliant little map that had helped them so much. One last tunnel and they would have explored all that the map had to offer. They'd already agreed to give it to the famous Potter kid Ronny always hung out with. Of all the people, the Boy Who Lived would need the map. Especially if he kept up his 'saving people' thing. Maybe at the next Hogsmeade trip… Harry had proved himself on several occasions to be the pranking sort. Fred glanced at George who tapped the wall in front of him with his wand experimentally. The teachers were rather distracted with an unfortunate dung bombing in the dining room, and everyone else was in bed, leaving them free to explore. After this last tunnel, they wouldn't _need_ the map, despite its uses.

"Maybe try dancing in front of it like that other tunnel." Fred offered with a smirk.

"Not falling for that again, Fred."

"Not my fault you're so gullible. It would be a crime to not take advantage."

George snorted. "If we were talking about anyone else-"

"You'd agree. I know." Fred scanned the map and watched their new Defense professor walk down the hall. "Bugger," Fred muttered. "Have you got it yet?"

"Hang on… There." George's wand slid into a hidden slot and out again, and a door appeared out of nowhere. They grinned at it. "Brilliant."

"He's coming."

Fred rolled up the map and tried the door. It was unlocked and they both fumbled inside and waited with baited breath as Professor Lupin's steps passed by. At exactly the same moment, the twins nodded and moved into the dark tunnel.

" _Lumos,"_ George whispered, bringing a white light to the tip of his wand. It smelled like mildew and rat droppings in the tunnel but that was good because it meant no one had used the passage in a very long time.

"Another one to Hogsmeade?"

"No, wrong direction. Gonna have to see, I guess. Maybe there's a swimming pool at the end. I'd like a swimming pool."

Fred glanced at his twin. His red hair was lit up in the light like a fiery halo. "You can't even swim."

"Hush."

They walked for a long while in silence, their footsteps echoing up and down the dank tunnel. The longer they traveled, the more excitement built up in Fred's chest, a feeling echoed back at him in George's eyes. He loved this part. Right before the mystery was revealed. Discovering something no one else knew. The twins exchanged glances. They didn't really need words to communicate. Speaking was usually reserved for not so subtle jibes at each other.

Finally, they reached a trap door on the ceiling at the end of the tunnel. They both stared up at it. "Remember when-?"

Fred snickered. "Still makes me laugh."

"Her _face_ , though."

"Like a plum."

George laughed quietly and they both began poking the door with their wands. It was just high enough that the tips hit it when they stretched up. "Maybe we shouldn't-"

"Yeah, blasting the door last time nearly got us caught."

Fred cast his gaze around the empty tunnel. "It's like they built this for a giant."

"Or Hagrid."

"Same difference." Fred bit his lip, thinking. "Alright, brother. Bottom or top or levitation spell?"

George screwed up his face. "I was bottom last time."

"Yeah… but you're uglier… and I'm oldest. Can't have you scaring off the pretty girls lounging at the pool when you pop up."

"Prat," he muttered. Then he lifted his wand and cast a weightless spell.

"Aw, boring," Fred complained as he bounced on the ceiling like a stringless balloon. "Balancing on your shoulders is much better."

"Well, if you weren't so fat, maybe I'd reconsider."

Fred snorted and spun around so that he could unlatch the door. He pressed it open, gratified when it gave at his touch easily. The wood warned of splinters and Fred kept his contact with it minimal. He pushed it open, causing sticks, dirt, and leaves to rain down on them. Fred laughed, drifting out and catching the edge of the door to keep from floating away, effectively looking like he was doing a handstand on the edge.

His robes dropped down over his face but he did not appear to notice as he canceled the spell with his own wand and placed his feet on the ground. Adjusting his clothes and putting the wand away, he looked around.

"What do you know, Georgie, it _is_ a swimming pool."

"Fred, I can tell when you're fibbing."

"Worth a shot." With his hand planted on his hips, Fred spun in a circle and waited while George levitated out of the door and settled beside him. They shut the entrance with a clack, and it melded with the ground.

"Huh."

"Forbidden Forest." Neither boy was particularly bothered that the Forbidden Forest implied that it was _forbidden_ to go inside. Honestly, who even followed that rule?

Well… Fred thought all the boring people who would probably live normal lives and not die doing something ridiculous like he figured George and him would. But such was life and who was he to argue, right? It was more fun this way anyhow.

George scratched his nose. "Useful, I suppose."

"Could let a bunch of those bat things in the school, yeah?"

George nodded. "Or a flock of owls."

Rolling his eyes, Fred caught George's gaze. "Owls don't have flocks."

" _Exactly_. We could make them think it's a thing everyone has been-"

"missing…" Fred thought for a moment. "That's… we could work with that."

"I am a genius after all."

Fred cast George a look that clearly said _why, thank you for reminding me for the thirty-fifth time today,_ and then he turned to walk around the little clearing. The dark was oppressive and wet and a sickly chill hung in the air that ate away at Fred's excitement over a new secret. He wrapped his arms around his skinny form and shivered. How depressingly creepy. Between the black trees, gnarled branches created a formidable barrier against the sky. Clouds skirted about the slice of the moon but the stars were nowhere to be seen. With leaves and twigs crunching under his feet, Fred stepped deeper into the forest, knowing instinctively that his brother would follow. "Make sure you-" he started.

"Already on it," George interrupted. He broke branches as they walked, marking their path. They read it in a book on adventuring once. Or maybe it had been a muggle film Dad brought home… no matter.

They circled the area, their breath in the air and broken sticks the only evidence of their trespass. Fred located a particularly smelly bog that would fit in wonderfully in the prefect's bathroom, not to mention a wonderfully sized frog for their new and improved frog chocolates. Now they'd just have to dye its skin the exact brown and leave it for Slytherin. That would be quite satisfying.

They met back in the clearing a few minutes later and quickly whisked through their findings as they started out again, going further this time. A tunnel to the forest was looking more and more appealing.

George was dramatically acting out just how Draco would look when he was suddenly covered in bog water, frogs, and wearing a crown of fairy leaves, and Fred dutifully took on the role of Professor Macdonald. He cleared his throat and primly clasped his hands behind his back, managing somehow to look down his nose at someone of exactly the same height. "And what is the meaning of this, Mr. Malfoy?"

George struggled to hold a straight face before they both gave up and collapsed into giggles. "Gonna be great," George snickered and Fred nodded enthusiastically.

They took turns imitating each teacher, in turn, doing Snape several times. George started in a nasal tone. " _Mi_ ster Malfoy…. I would like to know…. the meaning of such… _behavior_ but… I talk so slow I forgot what I was… talking about." He scratched his head. "Do you happen to have any shampoo? I've just discovered it."

"Oh! Oh! Or it's like-"

But a sudden shuffling stopped both boys. They stilled and drew close to each other on reflex. "On second thought-"

"We should probably be getting back, Fred."

"My thoughts exactly."

However, neither Gryffindor moved, the cheerful mood dribbling into the dirt beneath their feet as foreboding rose around them. They glanced around the dark forest and realized they had no idea how far they'd gone from the tunnel. Another shuffle and a stomp and a growl and Fred took a small step in front of his brother. They listened in complete silence and Fred frowned. "What is that? Drums?"

George listened. In the distance, a strange drumming sound grew louder. The ground rattled under their feet and understanding dawned on both at the same instant. "Something's coming." Fred shoved George backward and they scrambled back to the tunnel but it was too late. For the first time, Fred caught a glimpse of the creatures. A flash of red eyes, a blur of gray fur, more thudding steps.

"Wolves," He breathed. "Gogogogogo!" They ran, stumbling on their outer robes until Fred quickly discarded his and grabbed George's arm. The wolves were all around them, just in the shadows, circling. There would be no getting back.

"Change of plans." They both scrambled to a stop. Fred's heart fumbled in his throat and he could hardly keep his feet. Quickly, Fred pushed George toward a tree. "Climb!" He ordered in a terrified whisper. "And quickly too. I'd rather not be dog food."

"Since when are there even wolves around here anyway?"

Fred tried to count the pairs of red eyes staring at them from the shadows but lost count in his stuttering fear. They were massive, that he could see, and with their luck (or lack thereof), hungry. "Climb!" he hissed. Fred didn't remember drawing his wand but there it was in his hand. He cast a quick spell that lit up the area for long enough to make him even more afraid. There was no way they could fight that many beasts. They eyed him with open jaws dripping with red and drool and filled with sharp teeth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Fred thought that those wolves were _way_ too large and they really needed to visit a dentist, but he was more worried by their oncoming steps. Closer and closer. If he moved, would they attack?

George was above him in the tree. Didn't something like this happen in a muggle movie? With the tiny man and the dwarves? "What are you doing?" George hissed. "Get up here."

Fred couldn't move. They were going to eat him. He was going to be a little doggy treat for these beasts. A Freddy treat. Hopefully, he'd cause them indigestion.

Because it was all in the little victories, right?

Right.

Now how did the wizard in the muggle film stop the wolves?

Fire.

A whispered incantation and a ring of fire caused several yelps and disgruntled yowls. But they did not leave. If anything, they looked angry now. The wolves growled at the flames and yelped as they lept inside the ring, far too close to Fred for Fred's liking. He laughed nervously.

Great. Well, it was now or never. Without any hesitation, Fred spun to the tree and scrambled for purchase.

At the same moment, the wolves attacked. They jumped forward with loud, hungry growls. Fred scrambled up, George pulling most of his weight as he kicked against the tree. Fred's heel connected with a wolf's nose, and he pushed himself over the branch, just barely missing a lunge by one of the creatures.

Still in harm's way, Fred struggled to keep climbing but something was keeping his foot from moving. He kicked at the resistance, his shoelace caught in the bark, and looked down to see a wolf jump straight at him. Fred lept up,but was far too slow to stop the wolf's teeth from clamping down on his ankle.

Fred screamed again, this time in pain and a blue flash from above hit the creature on the nose (George's spell work, no doubt). It let go with a yelp. Gasping and far more terrified than he'd even been in his life, Fred scrambled and climbed and slipped and kept climbing, aware of nothing but the wolves and the fear clutching his throat. He could hardly breathe, adrenaline pulsing his veins like the fire around him… fire which was now burning the surrounding forest but still not derailing the wolves from their goal. It wouldn't be long before they realized it was fruitless. But still his heart pulsed over and over _We'regoingtodiewe'regoingtodie_

Finally, he was far up enough that they could not possibly catch them. He stopped sat on a branch and noted distantly that his hand was shaking violently against the trunk. He stared at it and blinked slowly. What.

The wolves howled and the fire crackled and burned. They rounded the tree but finally raced off. The fire was too much.

But Fred did not feel a moment of relief. He gave a gagging sort of cough, and barely registered George on the other side of the trunk. His twin's mouth opened and closed like he was speaking but Fred heard none of it. His grip slipped and George grabbed him and forced him to stay on his awkward perch.

"Freddie." George rasped. "Freddie, look at me. Look at me."

Fred's eyes finally zeroed in on his brother and instantly his terror began to recede. George was here. They'd be okay.

"Are they gone?" he asked. His voice felt muted in his own ears. "Are they gone? Are they-"

"They're gone." George interrupted. "It's okay. We'll stay up here till we're sure. But they're gone."

"The fire?"

"I'll deal with it."

Fred blinked and time must have passed because George _had_ dealt with the fire and it was dark again. He tried to concentrate on the feeling of the tree beneath his fingers but his concentration kept slipping. This ruddy glorious tree deserved a shrine and whatever else a tree wanted in life. Fred had never been so grateful for a plant in his entire existence.

As adrenaline ebbed away, the pain hit him all at once and he nearly lost his grip once more. He hissed and gritted his teeth. Agony radiated up from his ankle and down again. "My foot's been chewed off."

George rolled his eyes. "Always the dramatic. You've still got a foot."

Fred risked a glance down, reassured that it was still there. He gulped and looked at the momentarily useless thing. "Well… that's something, I guess." The bottom of his trousers was stained with half moon bite marks on either side of his leg from blood that dripped down into his trainer. Another wave of pain crashed through him, and he screwed his eyes shut. Was it supposed to hurt this much or was he just a wimp?

"Here," George climbed down at bit. His twin was pale in the moonlight, and his hands shook too. He took out his wand, gingerly lifted up the edge of his trousers, and muttered something obscene, anger flashing in his eyes. He looked up at him and tried to smile. "That is going to be a wicked scar."  
Sitting on a branch, Fred chuckled weakly. "They'll finally be able to tell us apart."

George snorted. "Only if they see you in shorts, which we all know would be more blinding than a good hex."

"Thanks," Fred grunted dryly, trying to concentrate on the trail of this conversation and struggling. "Curse of the white-legged ginger." He laughed weakly and let his forehead rest against the tree trunk. "Are you going to fix me or what?"

"I'm trying," George muttered. He said something sternly but Fred was far too tired to recognize the spell. This was not the first time one them had ended up hurt and had to heal each other. They paid particular attention to anything Nurse Pomfrey did anytime they happened to be around her for exactly this reason.

But they'd never been in a situation like this.

"George?"

"Hmm?"

Fred gulped, his throat dry. His head spun, and his stomach was twisted in knots. "It's just… a little bite." He blinked. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. "It's not supposed to… be this bad."

George adjusted his position so he was face to face with him. Even in the dark, Fred could see his brother's absolute terror. "None of my healing spells are working, but I tried to clean it, and it's not bleeding too bad, so I can bandage it like a muggle would."

Fred could read his brother's thoughts like they were writing in the air. "Don't take me to Pomfrey"

"But-"

"Then we'll have to explain why the heck we were out here surrounded by _massive bloody wolves_ in the _forbidden_ forest in the middle of the night."

George clenched his jaw. "I don't care. You got bit, Fred. It's not like we spilled something on our robes or cut up our fingers or… What if it's poisonous or something?"

Fred rolled his eyes, which caused his head to pound, regretting he'd mentioned that the bite felt far worse than it ought to. "It's a wolf, not a snake."

"Yeah, but still, Fred. You got bit by a…" Suddenly George trailed off, his eyes glazing over. "They were rather large, weren't they?"

Fred frowned. The pain had lessened slightly but George was getting fuzzier and fuzzier. "Yes?"

George pursed his lips. "Alright. We go back. If it's worse in the morning, we find Pomfrey."

Fred blinked lazily. "Uh, huh. Whatever."

"Now, let's get out of this tree."

After that, Fred remembered nothing.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

2

Fred woke up from a fevered dream he could not recall and jerked up with a gasp. He scrambled to his feet but ended up tangled in his sheets on the floor. He fell to the floor with a jolt. Something itched inside his chest, a place he couldn't scratch, and he screwed his eyes shut, a flash of pain that had nothing to do with falling out of bed spreading heat from his chest to every part of him.

And then it was gone.

"That had to be some ruddy dream, Fred."

Fred groaned and blinked open his eyes to see someone's bare feet on the other side of George's bed. His cheek was against the cold floor, and his eyes weren't cooperating, stinging on the edges if he didn't blink fast enough. "It's George," he said automatically. "Jeesh, we've only been dorming for _how many_ years…"

"Well, _Sorry-"_

"Heh," he snickered, his chest still aching. Why did it hurt anyway? "Just kidding. Hello from Fred." Fred smirked into the sheet and pressed his nose into the floor and still did not get up. There were weird dust bunnies under George's bed along with several old candy wrappers and an old sock... Whoever it was he was talking to, probably Sean, huffed and walked off with a _whatever, man, it's almost breakfast_ , and Fred sat up, disappointed that he hadn't managed to get an argument out of him. Honestly, what was the point of talking if there wasn't banter as well? He lifted his hand to rub his eyes, and then paused, staring at his hand in confusion. There wasn't anything different about it. Same long fingers. Same scar on his pinky. Same feel as he clenched and unclenched it. But… despite this, there was something decidedly strange. He felt odd and he couldn't quite figure out what it was that bothered him. Pursing his lips, Fred shook away the strange feeling and stood, noting George's empty bed. He was probably in the shower.

Fred leaned his head back against his bed and frowned. He was forgetting something fundamental here… He got to his feet and ran a hand through his tangled hair. What _was_ it?

Then George stumbled in, eyes red with exhaustion. His hair was wet and he scuffed it with his hand, meeting Fred's gaze. Instantly, several emotions flashed through them. Relief, fear, sadness, confusion.

Fred blinked and the memories of the previous night came barrelling back. "Oh," he whispered. He froze until everyone wandered out but George and looked down at his ankle. It had been bandaged but did not hurt at all. He frowned at it like he had personally offended him. "How did you get me back here?" Fred whispered.

George smirked but it lacked its usual luster. "It wasn't easy, let me tell you. You kept babbling nonsense and I had to practically carry you, but we made it back eventually." His eyes zipped down to his ankle, which Fred was standing on easily. "How is it?"

"Doesn't hurt." Fred shrugged, sat down on his bed and pulled it onto his other knee. He glanced around quickly and then undid the bandage. His tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth, and George's handiwork fell away quickly.

Fred's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"What?" George sat beside him and they stared at his ankle for a long moment. There was indeed a scar. White bite marks on either side of his leg.

But it could have been there for years, as far as they could tell. Fred frowned. "I thought you couldn't get the spells to-"

"They weren't! I tried every spell I knew. Couldn't get it to heal."

Fred pursed his lips and wrapped up the bandage. He stowed it in his dresser and continued looking at the odd thing. "Maybe your spells were delayed or something."

"But magic doesn't leave scars."

"Maybe it does. It's certainly convenient either way."

George glared at him and stood. He scratched at his chin and rubbed the back of his neck. Something was bothering him, and it bothered Fred that he hadn't shared it already.

"Well…" Fred stood and grabbed his uniform, remembering with regret leaving his outer robe in the forest. There was no way he was going back there for at least a little bit. Especially at night. Yes, avoiding the forest at night would be a good idea from this day forward. "I feel fine. Actually…" Fred considered himself for a moment and shrugged. "I feel great. Your magic probably just took a bit long, that's all."

George hesitated to nod and Fred huffed.

" _What_ , George?"

"Nothing." The twin pursed his lips and grabbed his school bag. "Just a stupid thought. You should get dressed."

Fred didn't move, instead watching his brother move about the room, stuffing several dung bombs into his pockets and a few stuttering chocolate bars. Finally, George met his gaze, almost angry. "Well? Are we going or not?"

"Yeah," Fred answered quietly. "Yeah."

* * *

Fred did not often have arguments with his brother, and when he did, they usually ended up tackling each other and laughing after a few minutes.

And he wasn't really sure if this counted at an argument since neither was particularly mad at the other. But something was bugging George and George wouldn't tell him and George _always_ told him.

It was driving him mad because, for the first time in forever, Fred didn't feel exactly in sync with his twin. Instead, they were quiet and Fred wasn't sure what exactly to do to fix the problem. He didn't know what George was thinking. And it was horribly strange.

Even other people started noticing. They looked at them when Fred responded and George did not finish the statement, or when they did not speak to each other for an entire period other than to smirk about Ron's inability to pay attention with Granger sitting so nearby.

But none of that was really _weird_. It wasn't until lunch that something strange happened. At lunch, both boys ate with opposite hands when they always both ate with their right.

Which was fine and all and whatever but Fred wasn't left handed.

Hermione Granger, the pretty, bookish girl that was already slotted in his mind as his future sister-in-law once Ron got his act together, was the one to point it out. "I thought you were right handed?" she said, cocking her head thoughtfully. Fred chewed and frowned. He glanced at George but he was staring at his food. Git.

Fred looked at his hand, moved the fingers, remembering the odd feeling from earlier. "I… am." He switched hands but fumbled with the fork until he needed to switch back to his left. Hermione watched him with casual amusement.

"Apparently not," she noted unhelpfully.

Confused, Fred switched back and forth and turned it upside down to mime writing. It felt horribly awkward in his right and comfortable in his left. Yesterday, the opposite had been true. Hermione chuckled, and Fred got the feeling she thought he was joking with her. "Weird," he said to himself.

"Stop it," George murmured in the barest whisper. It was his first attempt at verbal communication since the dorm room and Fred looked at him in surprise.

"Oh, what do you know, it speaks."

George rolled his eyes but enforced his previous message with his eyes. Trusting him, Fred shrugged and dropped the fork. He tangled his hands in his lap and his leg jittered up and down with nervous energy. An annoying girl whose name started with a P or something (he really didn't pay attention. She was too young for them and barely a 4 on their hotness scale) balanced her head in her hands. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"

Fred blinked at her and raised an eyebrow. He answered dryly. "Or something-"

"-that isn't your business," George finished. Good, at least he wasn't being silent anymore.

Pretty-ish P, (was it Patsy or something? Pansy?) lifted her hands in surrender. "Sorry, I asked."

Fred was spared having to respond by the commotion at the front of the dining hall. Dumbledore, dressed in blue robes, his glasses dangling on the edge of his nose, stood and waited for the room to quiet. Which it did, quickly. Fred drummed his fingers on the table until Dean, who was busy stuffing his face with a croissant, smacked his hand. "Dude, you're making me nervous."

Fred smirked. "It's okay. I have that effect on people."

"Haha," he answered, deadpan.

Then Dumbledore's voice filled the hall, amplified by magic. He clasped his hands behind his back. "I do not wish to alarm you. I know we already are dealing with enough with our… _unfortunate_ guest patrolling the grounds," (that would be the Dementors) "but it seems that our forest is currently inhabited by a migrating group of, ah, dangerous creatures. They will not bother us if we stay out of our way, and they will be gone within a few days, but it is of dire importance that _no one_ enter the Forbidden Forest. This should not be an issue for any of us since you should not be there anyhow... But it is a reminder all the same. That is all." With that, the headmaster sat down and continued popping down his boiled eggs. Was it just him or were all the teachers staring pointedly at Gryffindor? Gosh, it's like they had a reputation or something.

Fred met George's eyes, who looked slightly ill. Dangerous creatures. That was just a bit of an understatement. Giant red-eyed wolves are roaming around the forest wanting to take bites out of people's legs but please, just keep eating. Don't mess with them and they won't mess with you.

It wasn't a ruddy _beehive_. Fred opened his mouth to remark on this but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Hush. We _cannot_ connect us to them."

Fred glanced at his twin, disconcerted by his serious expression. "I don't understand."

"I know." George shifted his weight. "Just in case, okay?"

"Okay?"

The rest of the day sped by in strange increments filled either with irritation at George's silence, or with the strange headache building in the back of Fred's mind. He felt progressively more and more jumpy but couldn't exactly pin down the reason. He didn't want to mention it to George lest he worry and-

Wait.

They were walking in the middle of a corridor in between classes when Fred stopped abruptly and spun on his twin. People grunted and moved around them.

"You're worried. That's why you won't tell me what's bothering you. You think I'll worry."

George blinked. "Yes," he answered simply. "I'm probably wrong so there's no point-"

"George."

George chewed his lip. "Those were… very large wolves."

"I know. You keep saying that."

"With red eyes. What kind of wolf has red eyes?"

Fred stilled. He shook his head minutely because he'd known from the beginning what sort of wolf had red eyes. Suddenly, he snorted. "That would be my luck, wouldn't it?"

George said nothing and Fred was forced to sigh and continue.

"We shouldn't worry. They were just wolves." Of course, they were. They had to be.

" _Red-eyed_ wolves. I just think we should make sure it wasn't."

Fred opened his mouth to protest.

"You're right, it's probably just a wolf," George said hurriedly and quietly.

"It was."

"Then we should make sure."

Fred mulled over this, fresh sparks of fear filling his gut at the thought. He took a shuttering breath and nodded once, sharply. There wasn't anything to worry about. It was just a pack of wolves. That's all they'd been. Reassured, he smirked. "Well, if it were true, I'd at least have a chance at growing decent facial hair."

" _Fred,_ " George groaned.

But they'd been just normal wolves. So it was okay to joke about it. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

Two days later, they managed to drag themselves to the library, both extremely reluctant. They didn't want to know, no matter what George said. Ignorance was easier.

But they couldn't delay forever.

It was a day history ought to remember; the day Fred and George first wandered into the library. Mark the calendar. Build a ruudy statue. Who would have ever thought? Sunlight streamed through the windows, cascading over floor to ceiling bookshelves. "Blimey, Fred," George murmured, "I'll bet Hermione had a heart attack the first time she saw this." Fred agreed.

The librarian's puckered mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of them. She blinked owlishly and had to support herself on the desk. Not once had the twins graced the library with their presence before this day. They smiled benignly and quickly assured her that they had no intention of causing a disturbance, which she did not seem to believe at all. But she couldn't exactly throw them out for saying they needed to study.

Fred ticked his tongue as they darted about. "It's like she expects us to cause trouble. I mean, seriously _us?_ "

"The indecency of some people," George replied with a shake of his head. They snickered and shoved their hands into their pockets as they walked.

Side by side, they skirted around students sleeping on desks and wove in and around the bookshelves. It smelled like dust and ink and paper. Both boys felt extremely out of place and neither one really wanted to get down to the reason they were there. Finally, George sighed. "How are we supposed to-?"

"I don't know. Maybe there's a map or something?"

But they were saved by a small voice from behind. "Did you two get lost? The Quidditch Field is _that_ way."

They spun toward the voice and gave identical sighs of relief. "Granger."

"Just the girl-"

"-we were looking for."

Hermione raised an incredulous eyebrow. She carried a pile of dull looking books and had her hair pulled behind her ears, out of her way. Fred smiled at her, overenthusiastically. "You don't happen to know where we could find information on… ah, dangerous creatures?"

Frowning, Hermione shifted the weight of the books in her arms. "You mean like the ones Dumbledore said were in the forest?"

"Yeah," they said. Glancing at each other, they moved as one toward the girl. "Need help with these?" They plucked them out of her arms, and she directed them mutely to an out of the way table she often studied at. They placed them down and grinned.

Hermione had a hand on her hip, and she squinted suspiciously at them. "If you're planning on doing something-"

"We wouldn't dare!" Fred interrupted, for once completely serious. A flash of memory from the forest hit him sideways, and he shivered. There was _pranking_ , and then there was _harming_.

Hermione chewed her lip and then nodded. "Well good, because anyone who's read _Peculiar Creatures volume 3_ knows that this is the time of year the Lupus Magnus migrate. Those are most certainly the creatures Dumbledore was talking about."

Fred looked at George, who shrugged. "Lupus what?"

Hermione huffed and pinched between her eyes. "Honestly, Binns covered their involvement in the goblin wars only last week."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Do you seriously expect us to remember anything that ghost said?"

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose not. Anyway, they're this ancient cult that believes in shedding their human form completely. They're wolves full moon or not. I did not even know it was possible to transform outside of the full moon before I read on it a bit last year. Just out of curiosity. It is really quite a fascinating study. Well, a bit gruesome, but interesting all the same."

She said it so calmly. So easily. Like it wasn't the sort of thing that made a man nauseous.

And Fred was suddenly quite nauseous. He went very still and took the tiniest of a step backward. He'd been expecting it, to be honest but it still hit him like a sledgehammer. "So they're..."

"Werewolves." Hermione nodded. "Yeah. Did you think he was joking when he said dangerous? Don't mess around with… Are you alright?"

Fred was holding a book very, very tightly. There was a box that Fred could close his mind in, and he suddenly found himself stepping inside. He was fine. As long as he didn't leave that box or open his eyes. He set the book down slowly and nodded, attempting a smile. "Fine. Just fine. I'm fine." _This is going to be the end of me._

Hermione didn't look convinced, her gaze jumping back and forth between them. A single glance at George revealed that he looked just a sick as Fred felt. "Right… well, chapter nine in _Peculiar Creatures, a Prolog,_ talks all about werewolves." She rolled her eyes. "It's even got pictures if you require that to hold your attention." She looked through her stack of books and pulled it out. "Look, I've even got it here."

The twins nodded and spoke as one. George took the book because Fred was rather paralyzed. "Thanks, Granger."

And then they sped away before they did anything stupid like scream or puke, or blurt out something incriminating. A moment of searching found them a little-used corner where they quickly put their heads together. "It might have been _another_ group of wolves?" George said weakly.

Fred glared at him. "Oh yes, there just happened to be _another_ pack of wolves wandering around with red eyes."

"I'm trying to be optimistic." They turned so that their faces were toward a corner, shoulder to shoulder, and they could look at the book without anyone seeing. For a long moment, Fred just stared at the unremarkable cover, terrified to open it. Their fingers shook as they thumbed to chapter nine.

There was a wonderfully detailed picture right there at the beginning of the chapter and at the sight of it, George spat out several bits of profanity that would have had his mother in a rage. A large wolf with red eyes growled and paced back and forth, its black and gray fur rippling in the moonlight of the picture. It was the exact creature they had seen a few days before.

Fred's heart stopped and an overwhelming wave of fear crashed over him. He could be cool, he could take things in stride. But not this. He slammed the book shut and fumbled backward. "I'm not- It's not going to- It's not-"

"Shh!" George spat.

There was no stopping him. That little box in his head was not enough to withstand the terror that made his blood hum. "I'm not one of them, George. I'm not going to be one of them. I'm not gonna be a were-"

"Shut up!" George clamped his hand over his mouth and looked him in the eye. There was something fierce in there. And something fearful, too. "Do you _want_ to get caught?"

Fred ripped his hand away and sped back, ignoring protests _no running in the library_. George was afraid. Of course he was. He could hear George just behind him. "Fred, _stop_!"

Fred did stop, turning on his brother. "Leave me _alone_ , George!"

Detachedly, he noted the shocked looks of the other students. Fred and George never fought. Not like this. But Fred didn't care what they all thought. If George had never brought it up, he thought, then they wouldn't be in this situation. He ripped away from his brother and sped out of the room.

* * *

"So where's George?" Ron asked him. His brother's scruffy hair danced in the winter air as they walked to class. Fred shrugged, and Ron blinked in surprise. "I thought you were always together."

Fred gave him a look that said, _you really are an idiot._ "Didn't realize that was _mandatory_. He's late."

"And… you're not?"

"Bingo."

Ron stared at him for a moment, so absorbed he nearly tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. "Don't you always wait for each other?"

"Not today."

A pause and then: "Are you mad at him?"

Fred bit his lip, considering. Yes, he wanted to say. He was furious. If George had never thought of the idea, then he'd never have to deal with all of this. If they'd never gone out into the forest. If they...

If it...

If...

But that was stupid. George couldn't change the situation. He was trying to help. Fred rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"No. I'm not mad. Not really. I'm just…" _Selfish, immature, irrational?_ He growled at himself and chewed his lip. "I should probably wait for him." Fred stopped walking and looked back the way he'd come. His breath hung in the air, and he wondered idly when it would snow. That would cover up the burned circle in the forest. Blanket it in white. As if that would cleanse the place.

Ron looked even more confused. He seemed to try to understand for a moment but gave up quickly. "Whatever." With that, Ron shoved his hands into his pockets and walked off, leaving Fred leaning against a pillar in the courtyard. Fred drummed his fingers in his pockets and wrapped his hand around a small firework. He and George were planning on setting it off under Mrs. Norris but since he'd been avoiding his twin lately, they hadn't had a chance. This was stupid. He was being stupid.

After a few minutes, George came around the corner alone, looking like he hadn't slept in awhile. Fred realised with a start that he hadn't really looked at George's face for a while now. He met Fred's eyes and brightened visibly. Picking up his pace, he was soon beside Fred. "Freddie, I-"

"Wanna prank Filch?" Fred interrupted. He didn't want him to apologize. He wasn't the one being stupid.

George stopped abruptly and blinked at his twin. A smirk quickly positioned itself on his face, and he gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Of course. What do you have in mind?"

The next two weeks were spent in a flurry of pranks and research, which was baffling their headmistress to no end. The pranks were distractions, the bigger the better, and the research because George insisted they needed to know for sure all that they could.

Ten days before winter break and seven before a full moon, Fred and George were knee to knee in one of the cleaner hidden passages, several books stacked around them. Books, Fred had never been ecstatic about, but now they held answers, and he couldn't quite get enough. There was this bitter curiosity and fear all at once. The tiny hall was lit with several floating candles. One dribbled wax onto Fred's shoe, and he cast an irritated glare at the light.

"It says you're supposed to be allergic to garlic."

Fred snorted. "That's vampires, George. Not… you know." Fred had taken to avoiding the word just as much as everyone avoided You-Know-Who's name, and his stomach was tangled in knots just sitting here reading about the creatures. And on that note, should he still call them creatures?

"Oh. Woops, wrong chapter." George flipped a few pages over and yawned. "You know, at this point, we'll probably actually write a nice essay on this. There's one due next week. It would give the teacher a heart attack to see us turn something in."

Fred snickered. "They'd probably scan it for hexes."

"Hmm… That's actually a good idea."

Fred considered this."Wobbly eye hex?"

"Or uncontrollable sobs?"

"Snape would kill us."

"It would be fantastic. Maybe if Snape is the one editing..." The pranksters grinned at each other in the candlelight, momentarily caught up in the prank, and then their smiles slid like melting ice cream. They reluctantly turned back to their research. For several minutes, there was only the sound of shifting pages. Then George spoke up. "Huh. All werewolves, sorry, I mean, you-know-what's. Anyway, they're all are left-handed."

Fred looked up thoughtfully. "Explains the fork thing, then."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Do you think anyone's noticed?"

George shrugged. "You could always just say you're trying to learn to write with both."

"Yeah, that would work."

They'd never even considered telling someone else about this little predicament. They would fix this. They'd never needed help before, and they weren't going to ask for it now. Also, Fred doubted he'd be allowed to continue attending Hogwarts. Which would mean separating from George, and that was never going to happen.

But all that consideration was going to be unnecessary if he wasn't even a you-know-what. This was looking increasingly unlikely but he continued to hope. Throughout all their research, the same fact continued to pound into his mind. This was not reversible. Ever.

He kept looking.

"Apparently, they can smell a drop of blood from a twelve miles away like a shark or something."

Fred rolled his eyes. "That's rubbish. I can't even smell what's in the kitchen."

"Your sense of smell is bound to be a little better, at least. I bet you could get there blindfolded. "

"Not by _smell_."

"Have you tried?"

Fred frowned. "Well, no."

George stood, brushed himself off and held out a hand for Fred to grab. Fred took it reluctantly and stood. "Right. Close your eyes."

"You can't be serious."

George smirked. "Serious as they get. Now, come on, wolf boy. Don't cheat."

Huffing, Fred closed his eyes, hands on his hips. "You've got an entire world full of dog-related humor and you choose _wolf boy._ "

"Hush."

"It's pathetic. I really expected more out of you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now do your trick."

Fred paused and then opened his eyes. "This is stupid."

"It's research."

Growling in frustration, Fred shut his eyes again. "I hate you," he said cheerily.

George replied in kind. "I'm sure you'll get over it."

So what could he smell anyway? The candle wax, the wet tunnel, George's shampoo…

His eyes flew open again, mischief glinting in the light. He smirked. "You know, maybe you're not totally bonkers, George." He breathed in dramatically, and George snorted.

"You're not shutting your eyes."

"Git." Fred shut his eyes and edged down the tunnel. "If you find an entire firework show in your desk, I really am not to blame." George snickered but said nothing as Fred continued down the hall. Fred honestly had no idea what he was doing and he couldn't smell anything but whatever. It made George laugh and was much easier to think about than the proof he would need to face in seven days time.

"Oh, what's that?" he mocked. "Filch is eating a donut!"

George laughed through his hand. "Okay, fine you don't want to do it."

"No, no. I really think I'm on to something." Fred opened his eyes and snickered, dropping the charade. "We should probably get back to our dorm. It's nearly midnight."

"Party pooper." George waved his wand, and the candles went out. They'd been leaving the books here to keep from drawing attention.

Yawning, they exited a hidden doorway and shoved their hands into their pockets, arms interlinked, as they walked back, whispering. All the paintings were sleeping in their frames, including one of a scruffy little terrier. It looked up as they passed, and they watched the animal for a moment before continuing on.

"Maybe you can talk to dogs." George piped.

"A front row seat for the adventures of scruffy and the squirrel who dared exist," Fred replied dryly. "Hopefully not."

They continued tossing ideas back and forth, wandering from exotic pranks and back to the 'problem'. Just around the corner from the Gryffindor common room, something chilled Fred's back. He stopped and skidded backward suddenly, dragging George with him.

"Wh-"

"Shh!"

They pressed back into the shadow and held their breath, and Fred, once again, wished he had a way to get Potter's cloak. Steps echoed down the hall, nearer and nearer. Someone. He'd known there was someone coming.

A dark form stopped in front of a moonlit window, the man's eyes shining in the dark. "I know you're there," he murmured.

Professor Lupin. Why was the man always sulking around after dark?

Fred did not move.

"I don't know what you want, or why you're here, but I would suggest getting as far away as possible." Fred and George glanced at each other, confused. What was the old bat going on about?

"Come out or I will make you."

Knowing there was nothing else to do, Fred and George edged into the moonlight. Fred steadily did not look out the window (and the thickening moon beyond) and so had a good view of the shock that plastered on the professor's tired face. Lupin opened his mouth again and closed it.

"Fred and George, yes? The Weasley twins."

"Yes," they answered.

The professor cocked his head and gave a weak sort of laugh. "I imagine you will only lie if I ask why you're out here in the middle of the night."

Fred and George considered this and answered again. "Yes." They would probably end up with detention but it wasn't like this was the first time.

Instead of bringing the hammer down, Lupin shook his head, looking quite confused. "I thought you were… never mind that. Go on to bed and do not let me catch you past curfew again."

Fred and George grinned. That was not what they'd expected. "Of course, Professor."

And they were gone before he could change his mind, leaving the befuddled teacher looking after them. Remus watched their retreating forms. He huffed dismissively. "Not possible." He was just being paranoid.

* * *

AN: Another chapter, woohoo! The plot thickens! Thank you for reading. Please leave a review if you are enjoying.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Three days.

Three days until they knew for sure.

Three days to figure out how they were going to keep him from going on a murderous rampage in the middle of Hogwarts.

"We've got to talk about it eventually, Freddie." George whispered. They sat in the back of Macdonald's Transfiguration and halfheartedly flicked their wands at a disgruntled hedgehog they were supposed to be changing into a Quaffle. Fred said nothing so George kept on. "Maybe… maybe we should tell someone."

Fred's gaze hit his twin sharply. "They could just as easily help us as they could throw me into the woods of Albania."

"Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen," George protested.

"Do you want to risk it?"

George shifted his weight awkwardly and shook his head in the negative. "If we don't tell anyone, then we're going to need to find some place to for you to hide."

"You mean, a place to keep me contained," Fred grumbled.

"Well, yeah."

They thought. To be honest, Fred had been unsuccessfully trying to ignore this part for far too long. It terrified him. "The forest?" he offered.

George shook his head. "Someone might see. And there's nothing stopping you from wandering onto the school grounds."

"True."

"What about one of the tunnels?"

"You know a tunnel strong enough?"

George huffed and muttered a spell when the teacher passed by to make it seem like he was at least trying. "Let's go looking for something tonight."

* * *

They were on the seventh floor in the left corridor of the Hogwarts castle next to the tapestry depicting the attempt of Barnabas the Barmy to teach trolls ballet. Fred stared up at it, bemused at the weird picture and tired from walking. He'd felt sick all week but couldn't tell if it was in his imagination or not. His muscles ached and his head pounded for no particular reason. Worst of all, there was an odd jumble of magic in his chest that jumped and bumped around. The moon was nearly full, and Fred was utterly terrified. Across the hall, George paced back and forth, chewing his lip.

"A room to contain a you-know-what… I don't know, Freddie."

Fred yawned and slid down the wall to watch George pace. He squinted at the wall opposite. "Didn't there used to be a broom closet there?"

"What?" George stopped his pacing. "Oh, yeah, there was." They'd hid from Filch in it once. They blinked and suddenly there was a metal door in the stone wall where there most definitely had not been.

Fred jumped to his feet, and George startled back. They stared at it for a few seconds lest it disappear. "A disappearing broom closet…"

"Wicked." George stepped forward and tried to door. It was unlocked. Casting a grin back at his brother, George swung open the door and walked in. His steps echoed inside in a very un-broom-cupboard-like way.

Fred frowned. "George?"

"This is… not a broom closet."

Fred followed George into the darkness, which let up a moment later to reveal a large room that reminded Fred of Snape's potions classroom without all the clutter. It was cold and stone with mats on the floor. Written in flowery handwriting on a plaque on the floor were the words:

 _The Room Of Requirement_

 _which will take on any form_

 _the witch or wizard desperately needs_

 _when they pace thrice before it._

"Well, that's convenient."

"It's _brilliant_. I said a room to contain a you-know-what, and here it is!"

Fred squinted at the plaque. "What the heck does _thrice_ mean?"

* * *

Remus Lupin considered himself to be a very dedicated person, not prone to fantasy or fanatics, even if he could be a bit paranoid.

And he must just be being extra nervous because Sirius was nearby, and Remus was being forced to put his trust in that long nosed git Snivellus. Oh, excuse him, _Severus._ But if Snape couldn't get over his childish angst enough to be at least outwardly civil, Remus could call him names in his head all he liked. Remus couldn't tell if the Potions Master hated him because of Remus' childish mistakes as a youth, or because of his lycanthropy.

But that wasn't the issue at hand. He accepted the potion from Snape, who swept from the room without a word, leaving Remus to drink the horrid potion alone in his office. It was near midnight. Tomorrow, at this time, he would be curled up under his bed in his room trying to sleep and forget that he had paws and a tail.

Remus swirled the steaming liquid and eyed it carefully for any sign of poison, as always. He wouldn't put it past Snape to try to kill him.

Sighing deeply, Remus downed the potion that would let him keep his mind as a wolf and grimaced at awful taste and the buzzing in his mind that it produced at first. But he would suffer any such discomfort to be spared a full moon without his senses. Remus shivered, remembering the times as a child he'd...

Well. He put the cup down. No point dwelling on the past, as they say.

Never in his wildest dreams would he wish a night without Wolfsbane on any werewolf. Not on his greatest enemy.

Remus pinched the bridge if his nose, recognizing the headache as an old familiar. As usual, he'd felt like hogwash all week, and it would only grow worse until the moon waned.

With a sigh, Remus turned to the stack of essays he was supposed to be editing. He picked up the first and snorted. "Funny, Severus." he grumbled. Just follow the syllabus, he'd said. But of course, the slimy git chose to teach on and assign a three foot essay about yours truly.

Was this Snape's idea of a joke or was he trying to get Remus discovered? Probably both, Remus reasoned.

 _Werewolves, a Misunderstood Species_ , was the title of the first essay. Remus blinked and checked the name. Ah, the Granger girl whose hand appeared to be glued upwards. She was worryingly clever.

And apparently in the minority's opinion when it came to werewolves. Remus sat back with the essay and read it quickly. It was of her usual quality, written well with noted sources and accurate information (which was saying something because the theories about werewolves were wild and varied and usually wrong).

Remus chewed his cheek and tapped the paper with his finger. What was she trying to say?

 _"While many in society would disagree, werewolves are deserving of privacy just like anyone else."_

Remus considered that. Did she know? Had she figured out his secret? Hermione was bright enough. And if she had, was this her way of saying she would stay quiet? He certainly hoped so.

Or maybe he was reading too much into the words. Yawning tiredly, Remus moved on through the piles of essays.

Two other papers caught his attention, however. The papers of the Weasley twins, who had turned their essays in at the last possible moment, were actually rather good.

Startlingly good.

Remus frowned. He'd think they were cheating except that they never bothered to put effort into schoolwork, even if cheating was an option. And there were anti-cheating charms around the perimeter of his classroom.

They actually were knowledgeable on the subject of werewolves... of all things.

His mind wandered back to the last week. He'd caught them sneaking around after curfew (something he'd done often enough as a student). Remus had been certain, for a moment, that he could sense... But it was ridiculous.

Remus rolled the thought over in his mind. There simply was no possibly. Besides, he'd been around the tricksters all semester and hadn't sensed anything before.

All the same, he resolved to watch the boys carefully for any signs that either of them displayed as best as he could. It was probably nothing. Most likely nothing.

But as he'd said before, he'd never wish a night without Wolfsbane on any werewolf. Even one that broke curfew.

* * *

"Hey, Fred!"

Fred turned around, slightly flattered that he had not been mistaken for his brother. His feet crunched in the cold snow as he turned to behold a very disgruntled Team Captain.

Ah. Practice. Yes. George and him had overslept that morning after falling asleep against each other in the Room of Requirement reading the night before. They'd moved all their books and such into the metal room just off to the side of the larger room. That little room had chairs and a bed and more books on Lycanthropy than they'd ever managed to find in the library. Better yet, the doors and walls looked nigh impossible to break into.

George was ecstatic that he wouldn't have to leave his brother totally alone, and Fred was less so, thinking about how utterly terrifying it would be to be in a metal box with a monster pacing around it all night. And if he managed to get in somehow...

But Oliver did not know any of that, and he was livid. "Where the heck were you!"

Fred's mouth didn't appear to be online. He opened and closed it uselessly until George, who'd just caught up, managed to speak. "We had detention."

Oliver snorted. "And you actually _went_? At four in the morning?"

"We might have-"

"-bombed Mrs Norris."

"Bit messier than we thought. Couldn't get out of it."

At this, Oliver's expression cleared to one of mild pleasure and expectation. "Is she dead?"

"Unfortunately not." Fred answered. "We have a theory that she's actually-"

"-the immortal Nicholas Flamel," George finished. "Just in disguise."

Raising an incredulous eyebrow, Oliver shook his head. "Oh, whatever, just warn me next time you decide not to show up. Or better yet, _just show up_."

"Got it," they said with identical smiles.

"Good." He turned and stalked off to intimidate other team members who had failed to show. Fred watched him go with a smirk, and then flung his arm over his brother's shoulder. "Good thinking," he said into his ear.

"I'm not called the smart one for nothing." George copied him and they fumbled their way through the snowy courtyard to the dining hall trying to trip each other.

"For the record, no one calls you the smart one."

"Well, I don't see them saying that about you. It's a process of elimination."

"Whatever, oh witty one," Fred answered mockingly. To Fred, there was George, and then their was the rest of the world. They existed in a very tight circle and everyone else was mere pranking material. Not to say he didn't love his family and friends. But the level of care in comparison to the relationship he had with George just would never measure up. He was well aware that George was trying to distract him from tonight and he appreciated the gesture, ineffective though it was.

Even if George could distract him, his pounding head and aching bones were reminder enough. Feeling like crap was all apparently quite normal for a you-know-what according to his reading.

On another note, Fred didn't think he had willingly read so much nonfiction in his entire life. But how else were they supposed to know what to expect? It's not like they could just walk up to a professor and ask for information. It would be too suspicious. Especially now that they had turned in that werewolf essay (destiny had a sense of humor) and had no valid reason to keep researching.

It would only be one night, Fred thought. Just one night. Then it would get better... Until the next waxing moon set him on edge again.

One step at a time.

Time had a way of slipping away worryingly fast when he wished it to slow. Soon breakfast was over and he was sitting in Potions. A clock on the wall ticked like mad and Snape's voice was like salt in a wound. They shared the class with Hufflepuffs, who continued to be equal parts irritating, cheery and irrational. He did not understand the point of that house. A shot of pain had Fred screwing his eyes shut for a moment, and George nudged him.

"I'm fine," Fred murmured, his mantra of late. George obviously didn't believe him.

At the end, he was so tired and distracted he forgot to mess up the potion they were assigned like they usually did (can't have mucky mucks catching sight of them and making them do any more education than needed). Snape peered down his nose at the bottle of flawless eyesight enhancer, and his gaze flicked up to Fred suspiciously. George was still cleaning up their desk. "That was a stroke of luck, wasn't it, Weasley?"

"Sir?" he said with innocence. At least his headache had receded for the time being.

Snape rolled his eyes. The man's sharp gaze whipped up and down him. "You look horrible, Fred or George or whoever you are. You did not have the idiocy to inhale the moon drop's aloid, I hope."

"Think I'm just catching a cold."

"Indeed," Snape muttered. "Don't leave your childish runny nose about the place." He flicked the bottle of Fred and George's potion once more before waving him away. "Full marks," he said irritably.

Fred walked out quickly, his fingers shaking with nerves. He stuffed them into his pockets and waited for George, who exited with a concerned look. "Maybe you should just say you're sick and miss class."

"And bring attention to it? George, we all just did an essay on them. Someone would put it together after a few moons."

George didn't look convinced but he did not mention it again. "It's going to be fine, Fred. We've got the room. We'll be fine."

As much as Fred wanted to believe that, his stomach only turned tighter and tighter as the day wore on. Tonight they would know for sure. Tonight would change everything. Fred had never dreaded something so much in his entire life.

* * *

 _ **AN: AHHH! Hi. Bit of a filler chapter but the next one should be more exciting. I wasn't sure whether or not I should include the Room of requirement and went back and forth. But then I thought, aw whatever. There are more important issues than containing him to deal with in the future. But... spoilers. Anyway, please leave a review.**_


	5. Chapter 5

5

They'd snuck out of the dorm room with little to no problem and took a tunnel to the Room of Requirement. Because Fred was feeling sore enough that he didn't want to walk more than necessary (this was worse than that time George hit him in the face with a Quaffle, and he fell off his broom), George did the honors of thinking very hard about the room they needed as he paced back and forth in front of the door.

"Ey, laddies!" the grizzly man from the tapestry across the hall said. "Wotcha up to?"

Fred looked up at the man, who fended off tutu clad trolls with ease. "Don't mention you saw us and we'll accidentally drop a PlayWizard magazine open here on the floor for you."

The man's mouth opened and closed. "You've got a deal."

Fred smirked, wishing he had the head space to find more humor in the situation. But as it was, he could hardly move without aching.

"Got it," George said. He cast a worried look at Fred and helped him to his feet. Fred stumbled slightly but pushed George away when he tried to support him.

"I'm fine."

Fred didn't have the energy to answer, instead following his brother into the room without protest. It smelled like stone and hay and werewolf.

Fred paused at that thought. How the heck did he know what werewolf smelled like?

Whatever. Rubbing his eyes, Fred extracted himself from his brothers. "You should probably get in there," He gestured vaguely to the metal door that let into the little room George would be hiding in all night.

Fred's hands were shaking but it wasn't because of the chill in the December air, and George grabbed them in his. He searched Fred's face and tried for a smile. "Just one night, yeah?"

Fred nodded and then cringed at the pulse in his head it produced. "One night."

They stood there in the center of the room, reluctant to part. Finally, George gave a shaky breath and dropped Fred's hands. "I'd hug you, but I think that would probably hurt."

Fred snorted and followed George to George's room, feeling rather like a lost puppy. Something jumped in his chest suddenly, and he inhaled quickly. "It locks, right?" he asked worriedly.

From the doorway into the yellow lit room, George cast him a glance that said _you really are an idiot._ "Of course it does, and even if it didn't, it's not like you'll have hands to use a doorknob." George smiled sadly at him. "I mean, it might not even happen and then we'll feel like complete morons."

Fred rolled his eyes and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He smirked. "That would be nice, wouldn't it." He gulped and the clenched his jaw. "See you on the other side, I suppose."

George's eyes twinkled but they didn't hide the fear echoing in them. "And if you don't get a ruddy six pack out of all of this, I may need to take it up with whoever bit you."

Fred rolled his eyes. They both knew that wasn't how it worked. "Goodnight, George."

"Goodbye, Fred."

With that, George shut the door. When the lock didn't click immediately, Fred knocked on it. "Don't forget-"

"Okay, okay," came George's muffled voice, followed by a series of locks and clicks.

Relieved, Fred slumped down on to his knees. He turned around slowly, hissing in pain, and glared at the foot that caused this whole issue in the first place. Back against the door, he let his head fall onto the metal. His eyes wandered to the sole window opposite him high above the ground. There was a gold circle drawn in the center and the moon nearly lined up with it exactly.

So that's all the time he had then. The magic in his chest shivered in terrific anticipation, and Fred hissed in pain again.

"You alright, Fred?" George said through the door. To hear him so well, he must be positioned just like Fred was on the other side.

"Yeah," Fred croaked. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how much this was bound to hurt.

"Hey, Freddie, do you remember when we were kids a-and Charlie was still around?" The quiver in his twin's voice was not his imagination.

Fred smiled slightly. "He was always wearing that dragon shirt of his."

"Exactly. The stupid dragon shirt he won from a muggle."

"Used to wear it instead of his robes…" Fred murmured. "Drove Mom crazy."

"Till we found better use of it."

Fred laughed weakly. They'd charmed the shirt to look hot pink to everyone but Charlie, who continued wearing for weeks. "That was good, George. A good prank."

George was silent for a long moment, and Fred's magic leapt in his chest again, forcing him to his feet. He stumbled to the other side of the room, away from George, and screwed his eyes shut.

"Fred? You still there?"

"For now," Fred growled, not sure if George could even hear him.

Suddenly something clicked his the back of his mind. Fred's gaze snapped up to the window. The moon. Oh, that glorious, beautiful moon, was perfectly aligned in the circle.

He could feel something itching beneath his skin, a horrific, massive surge of rage that left him gasping. It grew more and more painful until he was forced to his knees. He bit his tongue to himself to keep from crying out as the itching became a livid agony up and down his spine. Heat and cold all at once.

Finally, he couldn't stand it any more and he let out a strangled shout, utterly terrified. His heart throbbed in his throat and his stomach twisted.

Then the world became a very strange place.

 _A glimpse of his hands growing very, very fast._

 _Pops that felt like his bones._

 _A long, loud howl._

 _And darkness._

* * *

George wasn't about to make it worse by telling his brother he was more scared of him right now than anything in his entire life. He scrambled back from the door and behind the bed when he first heard a growl on the other side that most definitely did not come from his brother. Werewolves in wolf form lived to destroy humans mindlessly, and George was pretty sure Freddie would freak if he knew what was happening. Scratch that. He was freaking out anyway.

Behind the bed now, George screwed his eyes shut and jammed his hands over his ears. But he couldn't block out his brother's screams.

Forget this.

George scrambled his feet and ran to the door. "Fred!" he shouted. He rattled the doorknob and tried to undo the locks but they were stuck. Something had anticipated this and wouldn't let him leave. Enraged, he slammed his hands against the door of his prison. "Let me out!"

The only answer was silence. Fred's shouts suddenly cut out. George froze and stepped back. He was shaking and pale, wand in hand, although he put it away in disgust immediately. What was he going to do if Fred actually broke in? Hurt him?

Like heck was _that_ going to happen.

To curious and nervous to continue in the dark, George whispered a spell that let him see through the metal wall as if there was a window. What he saw stopped his heart cold.

He'd been expecting it but he supposed nothing really prepared you for the sight of your brother's robes ripped in tatters on the floor. Pacing back and forth in the room was a thin wolf with black fur tinged red at the end. It was much smaller than the Lupus Magnus they'd seen. Bigger than an average wolf but still small enough that it could have been mistaken for a peculiarly large one. It's eyes shined gold instead of red. "Holy crap," George exhaled, his legs suddenly very weak. Forcing himself to breathe, George sat down heavily in the sole chair in the room.

He stared, entranced, as the beast (his brother. It was still his brother even if he looked nothing whatsoever like a human being) snarled and howled. The sound was long and mournful. He wondered belatedly if anyone would hear them. Chewing his lip, George fumbled for a pencil and a piece of paper and quickly set out sketching its general shape. He needed to do something with his hands. He glanced down and up again and screeched, dropping the pencil. While before the wolf had been on the other side of the room, it now stared directly into George's eyes in front of George's room as if it could see him, which it couldn't possibly. That was a _very_ fast wolf.

Taking a deep breath, George reached for his wand. "Freddie," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Freddie." Then he dispelled the spell and the wolf on the other side snarled in fury. It slammed its body against the walls but nothing gave. Reassured by that, George picked up his pencil and began drawing again. It wasn't like he was actually going to sleep, and he needed to do something to keep his mind and hands busy. Otherwise he might his tear his hair out. The wolf howled and scratched at the door for what felt like forever, but it couldn't get it, which was fine by George. However, soon it stopped trying and George paused, confused. He cast the spell to look through the wall, and his mouth dropped open in horror. Scrambling to his feet, George's hands slammed against the wall. The wolf was running in circles, ramming against the door out of the Room of Requirement ineffectively. It snarled and scratched itself against the sharp edges of the pillars scattered throughout the room. "Stop!" George shouted, his voice cracking. "Stop! You're hurting him!"

The wolf paid him no mind and George could do nothing but continue to watch in horror. Eventually, he couldn't take it any longer. He dispersed the spell and set about rummaging through the room for medical supplies Fred would surely need once he was back. What else could he do? He found a first aid kit along with Pepper Up potions. It wasn't much but he could probably heal anything else minor with magic. Thank God for this sentient room.

He piled it all in an easily reachable place and set about pacing back and forth. This was going to be a long night.

 _ **AN: I love this chapter. Like, I wrote it without even taking a breath or looking up or anything. Just so you know, in this story, I'm trying to make lycanthropy more of a really sucky curse than an excuse to give someone superpowers, which is what a lot of werewolf stories do. Oh, and I made a cool cover thing and you should totally check it out up at the top. But yeah, tell me what you think of this chapter. I can never get enough reviews :DD**_


	6. Chapter 6

6

Remus yawned, careful to keep his tongue from cutting on his teeth. He was curled up under the blankets in his bed as planned. He opened a single eye as an unusual smell hit his nose.

A werewolf.

The wolf in him made him grin like an idiot. _There's another one! There's another one to play with!_

Remus hushed the stupid dog and stretched. He could hardly go investigate like this. And besides, another werewolf in the school was hardly good news. Growling, he hopped down from the bed and sniffed under the door. Even if he wanted, he couldn't open the door. _You idiot, get back in bed._

But the wolf was ecstatic. It had been alone for _so long._ It had been alright when he had the black dog to play with and the idiot mouse and the stag.

 _My friends,_ Remus reminded it. _That you can't eat._

The wolf sniffed, affronted. It would never dream of eating an _animal._ Humans on the other hand…

 _Shut up._ The wolf was much tamer with the Wolfsbane thrumming in his blood, and they were uneasy companions. But it was still a wolf.

He knew for certain that there was another wolf running about the school, but had no idea who it was. He'd just have to watch to see if anyone else looked particularly sick the following day. Bored and tired, Remus lay down and placed his chin on his paws, twitching his nose. His eyes, he knew if he happened to look, would be his eyes, brown and human, because of the Wolfsbane, but he could picture the red eyes that must to roaming the school.

A spike of worry reached him. Hopefully, whoever it was was smart enough to keep himself contained.

He smelled blood but it was werewolf blood. That meant it was hurting itself. Which also meant it couldn't reach any humans.

Smart boy.

 _Or girl,_ the wolf offered. _Could be a girl. Wouldn't that be nice_. Remus rolled his eyes.

It was most probably a boy.

Then again, he was guessing here. It had been a single feeling. He'd been around the twins all semester, and they hadn't been suspicious. So unless one of them had just been bitten, which was highly unlikely in the middle of a moon cycle when werewolves weren't in wolf form...

Wait.

 _You're an idiot_ , the wolf piped helpfully.

 _Thanks._ Remus thought, _I try._

The Lupus Magnus. Of course. He'd warned Dumbledore of their approach, and they'd seemingly passed through without any mishap. He'd been so _stupid!_

But that meant one of them might have been bitten outside of a full moon and he had no idea what sort of effects that would have. The Lupus Magnus usually steered clear of humans, something in their rituals gave them enough of a conscience to avoid biting unless someone stumbled in their way. And stumbling in the way was something the Weasley twins were experts at.

Remus ground his nose into his paws. Great. He'd need to deal with this. If either Fred or George looked sick the next morning, then he'd know for sure.

Guilt edged in his stomach. He should tell Dumbledore but part of him knew they would feel extremely betrayed if he shared their secret. They were just kids and probably didn't want anyone to know.

Actually, Remus knew for certain they didn't want anyone to know.

And if he told Dumbledore, that would mean getting Snape involved, whose betrayal was only a matter time.

Unless the situation escalated, he would keep their secret, he decided. For now, they seemed to have found a way to keep the wolf contained.

But that did not mean he wasn't going to give them a good talking to.

Sighing, Remus stood, circled, and jumped up into bed. All of this could be dealt with in the morning. For now, he needed sleep so he could survive tomorrow's lecture.

7

"I feel like crap," Fred grunted, rubbing his eyes.

"You look it too," George answered cheerily.

Fred had woken up on the floor what felt like seconds later, watery morning light drifting through the window. He breathed, wincing at the soreness in his ribs. Bleary, he sat up and glanced down at himself. Two things managed to whittle their way into his foggy mind. One: He was naked. Two: He was bleeding.

Frowning, Fred picked at the slash down his forearm and poked the numerous bruises. What the heck happened?

Oh, yeah. A wave of disgust crashed over him, and he ground his teeth. It had happened. This wasn't just a hunch anymore. He really was a… Fred scowled and struggled to his feet. Cold and self conscious, he stood shakily and crossed his arms over his skinny chest. "George?" he rasped. Where was he? A spark of fear twitch, and he stumbled in a circle, looking. What if he'd gotten to him? What if George was-

No. He wasn't going to think about that.

The room, he remembered. George was in the little room. Quickly, Fred padded toward the room, fumbling drunkenly, only to stop in horror. Scratch marks covered the entire surface of the door and around it. He bit his lip, slowly lifting his hand to line it up. His hand was far too small, and it shook. This wasn't happening. He'd wake up in a few minutes and it would all be a dream. Please.

Taking a deep breath, Fred tried the door and to his surprise, it opened easily. Nervously, Fred poked his head in, and he breathed a sigh of relief to see George sleeping with tousled hair against the desk. He was alright. He was surrounded by drawings and notes that Fred refrained from looking at. George was quite good when it came to drawing, and he had no doubt that his brother had sketched down an accurate picture of him. And he didn't want to see that. He glanced around the room and spotted a set of muggle clothes in the corner (where did those come from?). Deciding clothes were better than no clothes, he dressed quickly. Unable to stop himself, he caught a glimpse of the wolf mid step on one of the drawings and couldn't take his eyes away. It was like he was glued. It was disturbing, to say the least, to look down a picture that was clearly not him, but at the same time, must have been. The creature was lean and strong and ember-like in the black and red fading fur. Something shivered in the back of his mind, and Fred winced.

At loss for words, he fell back on choice profanity, which he murmured without any particular venom, too tired. "Well. There's no doubt about it now, is there?" he whispered, his voice cracking. Leaning over his brother and tapping the page, Fred gave the wolf one last look of before turning away. His stomach twisted in revulsion. Picking at the long cut on his arm, Fred hissed in pain. At least it wasn't bleeding too bad. How did he manage to get that anyway?

Meanwhile, George shifted and suddenly jerked awake. Fear plastered on his face before he relaxed at the sight of his brother. A massive grin overcame his sleepy features, and he flew out of the chair and into Fred, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Fred winced. "Oh, thank God, Fred," George said into his shirt. "You're back."

"Ow, George, I can't breathe."

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot!" George jumped back like he'd been shocked. "You're hurt. You've got to be hurt with all the crap it did."

"What?"

But George had latched his attention onto his arm, and he babbled, fury in his gaze. "It kept hurting you! I don't know why." He bit his lip as he extracted his wand. "Don't move." He muttered a healing spell, and the cut sealed up. "What else is there?"

Fred, a little disconcerted by George's intensity, pulled back. "I've got some bruises, but other than that, I think I'm fine." He was fine. Really.

George opened his mouth and shut it. He took a deep breath. Suddenly he looked several years older. "Sorry. I'm scaring you. That's irony for you, isn't it?"

Fred's lip twitched up in a smirk. "If you want to fix something else, there's a bruise on my ribs that'll mess with Quidditch." He lifted up his shirt and George set to work. "Okay…" he said. "Okay, we're good. We're okay. You're okay."

Fred said nothing, far too tired. He yawned. His throat hurt. "Was I up all night?"

"You don't remember?" George frowned.

"No? Should I?"

George shrugged. "Usually they do. But maybe it's better that you don't."

Fred was inclined to agree. He placed his hands on his brother's shoulders, and they pressed their foreheads together. "Stop freaking out, George. We survived."

George nodded, his gaze finally meeting his. "This is the suckiest thing that could possibly happen to us."

"You're telling me. Come on, we've got to get back to our dorms before anyone wakes up."

George nodded and quickly shrugged on his outer robe. There was something twitchy in the way he moved and Fred's stomach dropped when he realized it was fear. But suddenly his brother looked up with a smile. Only then did he take in Fred's attire. He snorted. "What the heck are you wearing?"

Fred looked down at himself and let out a bark of laughter, which felt distinctly unnatural for such a situation. He stretched the shirt out with his hands. On the front, was a smiling, cartoon… wolf. "Apparently the room has a sense of humor." He snickered, wondering if he was crazy to be laughing at a time like this. George followed suit and soon they were both laughing, the silly thing made hilarious in light of the last few tense days and a night without sleep. Fred's ribs ached but he couldn't stop and he ended up in a heap on the floor with George. It was easier to not think about it.

Eventually, they hiccuped to a stop. "We should go," Fred murmured. He felt better. Laughter always had that effect on him.

"My thoughts exactly."

* * *

AN: Please review! This chapter was super fun to write as well. Actually, I love this entire story. Tis deliciously entertaining to myself.


	7. Chapter 7

7

Hermione was torn. She wanted to go home for Christmas break and see her parents tonight, but in the same breath, leaving Harry and Ron here felt like a betrayal. After all, _Ron_ was Harry's friend, and he was staying with him. Maybe she should stay too.

But she'd already told her parents she was coming home, and they had purchased sugar free candy canes to hang on the Christmas tree together. Sighing, she packed the last of her clothes and stuffed four books that she would probably just maybe perhaps need on the ride home in the side pocket of the suitcase. Satisfied, she stepped back and dusted her hands off. Good. Now… She glanced at her pocket watch and grimaced. She had Defence at eight and Runes at… eight.

Fingering the time turner beneath her uniform, Hermione shouldered her backpack and exited into the Gryffindor common room without a glance at a mirror, which would have horrified Parvati and Lavender. But honestly, why ruin a perfectly good day? She was bound to self conscious if she looked. No, a good brushing was grooming enough. Crookshanks curled around her ankles as she walked, and she nearly tripped down the stairs. "Oh, you blasted animal!" she huffed. "Haven't you done enough harm?"  
She still wouldn't admit that it was highly likely that Scabbers had been Crookshank's evening meal to Ron or Harry. Honestly, it was Ron's fault he didn't keep the ugly thing safe. It was a cat, for goodness sake. And cats hunted small rodents.

Determined, (she did everything determined) Hermione set off down the hall, deciding to skip breakfast. She was running a bit late, unfortunately, and Harry had left for breakfast already. She had no idea where Ron was and _did not care_.

Stepping carefully over the trick step in a staircase, Hermione was half a hallway away from Defence with Professor Lupin when two identical flashes of red spun past her on either side. Shouting in surprise, she threw her hands in the air and dropped the essay she was supposed to turn it.

"Sorry!" the twins shouted. They didn't seem like they were going to stop but then one of them skidded to a stop and turned back with a rueful smile. The other realised his twin wasn't following and stopped as well.

"Hello, Hermione," the first one said. He looked far more exhausted than Hermione was and Hermione felt guilty for complaining about her lack of sleep to herself. "Sorry about that." He picked up her essay, re-rolled it and handed it to her. "We've got to get to Transfiguration." The other twin was hanging back, obviously wanting to get to class. Now that was unusual… When did they ever worry about getting to class?

Hermione blinked, finally coming out of her shock at actually being spoken to by the twins. They hardly ever really seemed to speak to anyone but each other, and the times they had spoken to her, it had been to get her help. "But… that's on the other side of the building," was all she could think to say.

"Hence the reckless dash," the twin replied with a grimace.

Hermione paused, wondering how to ask him what his name was without appearing rude. Fortunately, the boy picked up on her reluctance. "I'm Fred… which makes him George, if you're curious."

Hermione laughed. "I didn't realize you could finish your own sentences." Oh. She wrinkled her nose. Why did she say that?

But Fred wasn't offended and George, who'd finally come back to stand next to his brother had an expression of delight. "What do you know? She has a sense of humor."  
"Hallelujah! We thought-"

"-well, we hoped-"

"-that you did because that would make for some awkward future Christmas dinners."

Fred wrinkled his nose. "Would it?"

"Of course it would! It's no fun to prank someone without as sense of humor."

"Very true, brother." Fred nodded thoughtfully. He was looking paler than usual, Hermione noticed, and there were rings under his eyes. Perhaps he was catching a cold. Something had been going around lately. "Well," Hermione said. "It was... interesting talking to you two but I've got Defense and-"  
"Transfiguration!" they cried at the same time, looking horrified. And off they spun.

Hermione shook her head, chuckling. She doubted she would ever understand those two.

* * *

Quidditch practice was great when it wasn't snowing and freezing and you hadn't been up all night as a man eating monster. Really fantastic, to be honest.

But right now Fred was rather certain his head might fall off while flying and he wouldn't even notice. The scratches on the door kept replaying over and over in his mind. _I could have killed him._

"Merlin's foot, Weasley! Watch where you're going!"

Fred jerked upwards and shot back an apology to a grumpy (and gorgeous as always) Angelina, who rolled her eyes. _She'd be horrified if she knew._

They were all shivering and sopping wet when they slopped into the locker room. Oliver was going on and on about keeping fit over break and the importance of blah, blah, blah, when Harry, that tiny Seeker, caught his eye. The thin boy tried on a wane smile as he dried his glasses with his sleeve. "Hello, ah..."

"Fred," Fred offered, leaning tiredly against a locker, and pushing his thoughts away. He had a part to play and moping would only seem suspicious.

Harry put on his glasses and looked him up and down. "Are you alright?" Nothing got past him, apparently. Or Fred just really looked as bad as he felt.

Fred shrugged and settled for simplicity. "Meh, late night."

"Me too." He lowered his voice. "Exploring the map."

"By yourself?" Fred asked, glad to change the subject.

"Ron and Hermione too." The boy frowned suddenly. "I hope you guys aren't mad I-"

Fred smirked. "Not at all. We got to watch Ron's enraged face when he found out we'd been keeping it from him."

Harry laughed and shrugged on his book bag. It was saying something when the Boy Who Lived was more carefree than you were. "You were there."

"In the closet."

"That's... Actually, that's kind creepy."

"We do try." Fred picked at the fibers of his red and gold scarf.

They spoke a few minutes longer until George finished changing. He caught his gaze and then smiled at Harry, looking tired. George had been up most of the night as well, Fred remembered. They waved goodbye. Jacketed and in identical beanies and scarves, the twins shouldered the wind on their way back to the castle. It took conscious effort to _not_ dress the same way. They always naturally picked out the same things.

"You alright, Fred?" George asked him for the millionth time. His voice was muffled by the scarf around his throat.

Fred pursed his lips, irritated and his mouth formed the familiar words. "I'm fine. Stop worrying."

George huffed but didn't say anything else until they were knocking snow off their boots at the front door. "What have we got next?"

Fred wrinkled his nose in thought. Classes. Yes, they still had classes to get through. "Defense? Yeah, I think it's defense. Hopefully Lupin is back." He could hear Hermione correcting him in his mind, 'it's _Professor_ Lupin.'

"Agreed. Bet you a firework Snape will try to teach again though."

Fred smirked, and they high fived as they entered. "You're on."

* * *

It turned out, looking for a sick student was more difficult than Remus had imagined. Or rather, it was difficult looking for student who appeared sick but was actually a recovering werewolf. He was forced to scan the students for signs of lycanthropy while teaching about the wonders of Lungworms and recovering from it himself, and it turned out there was more than one student who appeared worse for wear. Perhaps it was the weather, or the flu going about but it was making Remus's job quite a bit harder because even if the twins did look a bit sick, it could honestly be because they'd just flown in a snowstorm for an hour.

He was always very excitable as a wolf. Maybe he'd misjudged the smell and his imagination was running wild.

Not to mention, Remus was not certain he trusted _his_ secret to the pranksters, and wouldn't be comfortable broaching the subject of werewolves unless he knew for certain that at least one of them really was a one. They were known for blackmail, after all.

Perhaps he'd explore the forest once everyone left for break. He'd see if there was any evidence a biting had even happened. It usually left residual magic, not to mention a strong scent.

But back to Lungworms. "You'll have to excuse my voice," Lupin scratched. "I've had a peculiar reaction to teaching noisy first years. I might just be allergic." He smirked as he set up a box full of the poisonous Lungworms, and the class snickered appreciatively at his words. "I'll have you know, Snape tried to steal this class from me today." Remus continued conversationally. "He has it in his mind this is _his_ job. Fortunately for you all, it's not."

Trying to look like he was scanning the class at large, Remus looked over the fifth years for the red haired Weasley twins.

There they were in the back. Both looked quite alert, and perfectly normal, as far as he could tell, exchanging something under the table. Was the one on the left a bit pale or was it the lighting?

How unbelievably frustrating. There would be no doubting his senses if he managed to actually touch one of them. But he doubted they would ever let a teacher get that close. Irritated, Remus let out a sigh and continued with the lesson. He just didn't have enough concrete evidence. Being wrong would be disastrous.

He'd have to wait until he explored the forest.

Fred and George scrambled into their dorm and wildly stuffed things into their suitcases at random.

"Have you seen my invisible spitball kit?"

Fred paused for a moment to steady his spinning head and cast his twin an _are you serious right now_ look. "I'm pretty sure _no one_ has ever seen it."

"Never mind. Found it." George pulled something from the depths of his dresser and held up thin air.

Sean and Dean watched them in amusement, each with a suitcase. "The train leaves in ten minutes," one said, clearly amused.

"We know!" Fred and George answered. Finally, Fred buckled up the suitcase, cast a charm on it, and raced down the stairs, George at his heels.

"That's quite a weightless charm," George laughed, speeding in front of him. Fred looked up at his suitcase, which he was holding onto like a balloon. He shrugged and ran after George. His muscles ached but he dismissed his discomfort.

"Race you to the carriages!"

"Ha! Eat my dust, brother dear."

* * *

Ron wasn't going to be here, which was sad, but she was rather proud of him for staying with poor Harry. While Molly Weasley was always glad to see her children but she was also distinctly aware that seeing them would mean missing them all over again when they went back to school. However, such thoughts were silly and selfish. Besides, she was tired of making too much food. With Ginny gone, she didn't even have her daughter to pass the time with until Arthur got home in the evening. It was vexingly lonely and strange to sit still in the kitchen with the knowledge that the only sounds were those of her own making and perhaps the ghoul in the attic.

With this in mind, she could hardly have room for sadness when she was waiting for her children to finally come home.

Sometimes Molly wondered if she ought to have kept them close instead of throwing them out into the world at the tender age of eleven. Wouldn't they be better off learning at home?

But that was impossible. All wizards and witches went to school, and she and Arthur just didn't have the skills to equip them the way Hogwarts could. All the same, she wondered.

Clutching a purse, she checked her watch and stood on her tip toes along with the other parents waiting for their offspring. The platform smelled of cinnamon and leather and coal smoke, and Molly took a deep breath as she waited.

There it was. Two minutes late.

"Honestly," a posh woman to Molly's right murmured, "You'd think they could at least arrive on time."

"They're children," another man noted. He had a heavy mustache and lidded eyes. "I'll bet someone caused a ruckus."

Molly privately betted ruefully that it was probably one of her children who had done so. Specifically her twins. But her boys and her little girl were home again. That was all that mattered.

The Hogwarts Express, a great black dramatic thing, squealed to a stop, and Molly caught a glimpse of children's faces pressed against the window. A blonde first year forced down her window and stuck her arm out to wave. "Daddy!"

Smiling, Molly nudged her way to the platform edge, wishing Arthur was there to help clear the path of impatient parents. But he was at work. As always, as it seemed lately. The horrid Azkaban escapee Black was truly giving the Ministry a run for its money, and Molly guiltily hoped they would pay Arthur for overtime.

A redhead caught her gaze, and Molly waved until her third oldest son caught her gaze. Percy lifted his hand in acknowledgment and turned to speak to someone in the compartment behind him. He hopped regally off the train, and Molly lost sight of him for a moment. However, she did not have time to worry before her other children piled out of the train. George and Fred (good lord, had they gotten even taller?) had their arms around a resigned looking Ginny but George whispered something in her ear that made her smile. Meanwhile, Fred's gaze wandered over the crowd and found Molly's gaze remarkably quick. He gestured toward her rather tiredly, and they quickly made their way in her direction.

Now, Molly was all propriety when it came to most things. But, honestly, she could not be expected to contain herself when they finally reached her. Percy was first and with a small squeal, she embraced him before he could protest. The boy had it in his mind that he was rather impressive and untouchable, and Molly was at a loss at how to alter that view before it got him in trouble.

"Mother," he said stiffly, which earned him a playful whack.

"Goodness, Percy," Molly said, releasing him and looking him over. "This isn't a board meeting."

He was spared a response by the arrival of his other siblings. They each received a tight hug in quick order.

"Welcome back, George. And Ginny, you're getting so big! Oh, Fred! ... Fred?"

Fred blinked down from somewhere very far off it seemed, and smiled at his mother. She hugged him as planned, but released quickly when she felt him wince. Instant concern overcame her excitement. "What's wrong?"

Fred laughed quickly. "Just a bit sore from Quidditch. They had us flying all morning." He looked exhausted and a bit pale and was that a scratch on his neck? What trouble had they gotten themselves into this time?

Molly squinted, suspicious, but said nothing. Instead she tutted. "In this weather? What sort of coach has their team fly in a snowstorm! It is far from healthy. And right as you come home too! I reckon you'll end up with a cold. See, Ginny, this is why those with common sense don't play Quidditch."

Ginny looked rather sick at her words but Molly didn't notice, busy thinking forward already. "Well, I see you've got your bags already. Your father finally got a new muggle car." She continued quickly when Fred and George looked far too interested by this. "It is perfectly non-magical, although rather roomy inside, and will stay that way. After Ronald... Well, I just don't think my heart can handle another shock like that." Giving a pointed look at each of her naughty boys, Molly gestured for them all to follow her off of the platform.

They did and soon stood just under an awning at the exit of the station. Muggles busied this way and that, oblivious to the slow pace of the snow falling softly around them. Twilight had fallen and the snowy embankments took on a soft orange and pink of the fading sky. "This way." Molly pulled up her hood over her head and waited for each of her children to cross the muggle road. Fred trailed behind, shuffling his feet but he picked up his pace when she met his eyes. Pursing her lips, Molly kneaded his shoulder worriedly as they crunched through the snow to the car. He didn't appear particularly cold despite only wearing his school uniform. Where did his outer robe get to? "Are you sure you're alright, Fred?"

A flash of irritation, and then, "Why do people keep asking me that?" he snapped.

Surprised, Molly raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

Fred's brain seemed to have caught up to his mouth. He frowned. "I... Sorry. I'm not sure why I said that, Mum."

"You're just tired. It's understandable." All the same, she raised a eyebrow sternly. "But if you think that you can talk to me like-"

"Of course not," he backpedaled hastily. A glimmer came into his eyes, and Molly realized it had been missing. Something was definitely wrong, and it had nothing to do with Quidditch, Molly determined. Fred was always the more blunt one between him and his brother, but he almost never snapped at her like that. Unfortunately, if he did not want to tell her what was bothering him, there was precious little she could do to make him. Sighing to herself, Molly shooed stragglers into a sad, red, little car, and eyed the driver's seat apprehensively. She'd driven before but it still terrified her. Taking a deep breath, Molly opened the door and scooted inside. Not a moment later, Ginny poked her head up from the backseat. "Can I ride up with you? George keeps trying to stick his pinky in my ear."

Molly huffed in exasperation. "Honestly, George, contain yourself. And, no, Ginny, I think staying back there is much safer. It is a high probability that we are going to crash again."

"Again," Fred or George (she couldn't tell their voices apart without looking at them) said dryly. "That's highly encouraging." On second thought, that was most definitely Fred. Only he could be so dreadfully sarcastic.

But she really did need to concentrate. "Alright, Weasleys, no talking. Not a word. I'm driving."

She fumbled the key into the little slot on the right and no one said anything. The car grumbled to life. But then, very quietly, somebody whispered, "Bet you we'll almost hit a muggle."

"Not a _word_ , George Weasley!"

* * *

AN: Please review :DD


	8. Chapter 8

_**AN: It's been a while. 'sneaks out of the common room and edges a chapter forward with my toe' Be appeased. 'apparates'**_

 **8**

He was fine. Perfectly fine. He had to be because the alternative was messy. And he couldn't do that right now.

Fred stumbled into the Borough, breathing in the familiar scent of freshly washed clothes and his Mum's cooking. The conglomeration of a house had always felt comfortable to Fred, but now everything seemed to suffocate him.

It seemed that trying not to think about it, taking it in stride like he did most everything, was not a working plan. All morning, he'd tried to avoid thinking about the night before; about the scratches on the metal door protecting George. He should never have let George stay. Not that close. What if something had happened? What if the door didn't hold? What if George did something stupid?

There was no denying it now. Fred Weasley, brother of George Weasley, notorious instigator of trouble, was a werewolf. And it disgusted him

Barely seeing anything at all, he drug himself to the second floor, where he and George shared a room. His luggage floated over his head as he walked, hands in his pockets. What was with that ruddy charm? He'd never seen a weightless charm last so long. Rubbing the back of his neck, Fred approached the door with soot marks around the cracks from when he and George accidentally set off a firework inside, and pushed it open.

Inside, a mess that his mother had been decidedly ignoring for years reigned free. It was a bit dustier than when they left that Autumn but otherwise exactly the same. A nearly immortal guppy with bulging eyes swam in a floating orb of water, watching. "Hello, Martin," Fred murmured. He pushed his trunk to the corner, where it bounced on the ceiling over a pile of clothes and bits of experiments they'd forgotten. He glared at it. Stupid charm.

Taking out his wand, he flicked half heartedly at the luggage. When that didn't work, he tried to dispel the charm with more concentration.

It continued to bounce stubbornly on the ceiling.

"Can't even control my ruddy suitcase," Fred grumbled, suddenly flushed with anger.

The hot emotion came over him in a wave. How was this fair? How was any of this fair? Since when did he have so little control over his life? What were the chances that this would even happen? He growled out the dispersion charm and the luggage flew back into the wall, knocking over several fireworks, and a picture frame. He cringed as the picture fell from the wall and into a box of tongue twisters, which knocked into a pair of old beater bats, which knocked into a glass twirly thing he couldn't remember the purpose of. It shattered loudly, and Fred just stood there, his wand dangling from his fingers and his anger pulsing self righteously around him.

The door cracked open to reveal a large brown eye and a tuft of red hair. "Eh... Fred?"

Fred said nothing, Instead, he tucked the wand back into his pocket and dropped rather suddenly onto George's bed. He remembered when he and George used to crawl into each other's beds at night and make shadow puppets on the ceiling. He remembered George hiding under the covers when his mother's silhouette filled the doorway at an ungodly hour. "Where's George gotten to, Fred?"

"A monster ate him," he'd replied with a grin.

Fred didn't realize he was shaking until he tried to grab at his hair. "George," he whispered. "Oh gods, George, I can't do this."

The bed moved a bit as George sat down. His brother said nothing, twisting his fingers around and around. When he did speak, his voice was soft. "I… I've been thinking."

"Always dangerous," Fred grunted through his hands, palms ground into his eyes.

He waited for George to respond, and when he didn't, he looked up expectantly. But George's gaze was stuck rather firmly on his own hands. Then he look a deep breath and met Fred's gaze. "I think you should bite me."

Fred blinked, not quite comprehending. He frowned. "Wait, _what?"_

"Just think about it," George continued quickly. "Then you wouldn't have to worry about hurting me. They don't attack other wolves, remember? And if you're not alone, you'll be less likely to hurt yourself."

Stunned, Fred stared at his brother. What he was offering was… "The stupidest idea I have ever heard!" He stood and paced the floor, that same pulsing anger swirling around the room. "For one, that would mean you coming out of that room and getting in its way. Most people don't _survive_ being attacked. On top of that, on the off chance that you did survive, then _both_ of our lives will be messed up and-"

"Fred-"

"No." Fred held up a hand. "You are _never_ doing that. Ever. Promise me."

George's eyes were on the floor, his elbows on his knees. Slowly, his gaze met his brother's. He lifted his hands in surrender. "Fine," he muttered. "It was just an idea."

Fred looked him up and down, and his quivering anger bled away into exhaustion. "Promise you won't do something stupid," he croaked. "Please."

For just an instant, George hesitated. Then: "I promise."

* * *

James was the one to discover it. Back, oh so many years before.

Remus stood in front of the blank wall and fished his wand out of his pocket. The tunnel was here, wasn't it? He poked at the wall, searching for the invisible key slot. He shifted his weight and groaned in irritation.

"And what exactly are you doing, Lupin?"

Lupin jumped back guiltily even though he was in full rights to be here. For a moment, he flashed back to the times he'd gotten caught with James and Sirius. The portraits had wished them luck as they shuffled to detention.

But that was silly. He wasn't doing anything wrong now. Spinning around, a gurgle of exasperation filled him at the sight. Severus had abandoned his cumbersome outer robe (always the dramatic) now that there were not any students wandering around to intimidate. The castle was eerily quiet with such a small amount of occupants. Even those staying over Christmas mostly stuck to their respective common rooms. "Do you enjoy scaring people out of their skins?" Remus asked.

Severus raised an eyebrow and considered this before shrugging. "Yes. I do, actually. Now, what are you doing to the wall?"

Remus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "I was... Ah..."

Great. Sirius was always the one with the stories.

"... I see," Severus responded after a long pause. "Are you going to open it or not?"

Remus blinked. He'd forgotten how clever Snape was. "Open what?" he said innocently.

Severus laid his eyes on him in a way that conveyed both how utterly stupid he considered that response, and how he was not at all fooled. He slipped his wand out and began scanning the wall.

Remus stared at him worriedly. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? Opening your tunnel."

Remus snorted. "Thanks for the help, but I can handle it."

"Oh, I'm sure." The potions master's lip quipped up slightly at Remus' scowl.

Right. Okay, fine. He wasn't getting the message. "Did it ever occur to you that I'd rather not have your long nose in my business?"

Not stopping, Severus sighed through his teeth. "Never understood that joke. You can make fun of my nose all you like, but I can firmly say that I have never grown a snout." He glanced at Remus, who promptly gave him a withering look.

"I'd forgotten how irritating you are."

"Here I am to remind you." Suddenly, Severus paused and pressed his wand into the wall and out again. He smirked smugly at the door that melted into existence. "What do you know? A secret door. What a coincidence."

Remus, arms crossed, was running out if ways to get out of this situation. "You shouldn't go in there."

Severus, his hand on the doorknob, snorted. "And that is exactly why I shall." He opened the door and peered into the yawning darkness inside. "You forget, Remus, we're not children anymore. We're professors. I can go wherever I bloody like." He stepped inside and turned back with a questioning eyebrow. "Well? Are you coming or not?"

Grudgingly, Remus uncrossed his arms and followed his childhood nemesis into the dark tunnel. "For the record, you are just as much of a pain as you were in school."

Severus sniffed and lit up the end of his wand. "And you're just as oblivious."

Walking after him, Remus sighed. For a few minutes there was no sound but the shuffling of their clothes and their slight breaths. Then Severus cleared his throat. "You do know where this ends up, yes?"

"Of course. I'm not actually an idiot."

Severus mumbled something in response that sounded suspiciously like 'could have fooled me' but Remus chose to ignore that particularly childish remark.

A moment later, they reached the end of the tunnel, and Remus Apparated to the outside of the trapdoor. They were far enough from Hogwarts that Apparition was possible, which was convenient.

He stumbled a bit in the snow and caught himself on a tree. If he got lucky, perhaps Severus would splinch himself and have to go away.

No luck. Severus appeared a few feet to the left, looking collected and regal with his hands in his pockets. "Hmm. The forest."

Remus' eyes scanned the blindingly white scene. It was horribly quiet. Not even the birds stirred the snow.

He shifted his weight awkwardly until Snape cast him a wolfish grin. "Oh, don't mind me. Do whatever it is you have to do in the middle of the forest." He crossed his arms and leaned against a tree.

Remus glared at him before swinging around and stomping off. Fine. It's not likely there was anything out here anyway.

"I get the feeling," Snape called after him, "that asking you what it is you're doing will not yield me a result!"

"Brilliant deduction," Remus shot back. His eyes darted through the forest. Then he saw them. Broken branches. His stomach tumbled nervously.

Snape's steps crunched behind him, and Remus ignored the man. Moving quickly, Remus followed the trail. He backtracked once but was making pretty good process. The broken branches were obvious. Probably made on purpose.

"Are you following something?" Severus asked finally, unable to keep quiet. "Didn't know you were a tracker. Then again, I suppose it makes sense."

Remus sighed. "If you refuse to leave me be, Severus, the least you can do is shut your slimy trap."

He could almost feel the heat of Severus' glare but the man did not speak again for several minutes. And by that time, Remus had arrived.

He stepped into the small clearing and then stumbled backwards as a wave of residual magic fell over him.

"You are crushing my foot," Severus grunted. Remus muttered an apology as he stepped forward again. This time, he was prepared for the rush of tingling magic that trickled across his skin. Remus had heard of bitings before, and he could vividly recall his own, but he had never visited another biting in person. But there was no mistaking it.

He couldn't quite call it a scent. No, that wasn't right. It was more of a sense. A tickling in the back of his mind that made it very clear that not very long ago, many werewolves had circled that lone tree in the center of the clearing. Then there was the harsher, prickling magic just beneath. That was the biting. It made his stomach turn with dread. Someone had been bitten. Someone else's life was in shambles.

Then another someone took in a quick breath. "Now what happened here?"

Remus started, remembering his companion suddenly. A wave of horror washed through him. Snape couldn't find out. He would mess up everything. Make it worse for the victim, whoever it was.

"Someone set this on fire," Severus noted, wand in hand and eyes squinted suspiciously. Remus glanced at the trees in a rough circle around the large tree in the center of the clearing. Indeed. Although the ground was covered in snow, the trees were blackened to a crisp. That made sense. The student would have thought they could protect themselves with fire. Most wolves were terrified of it.

Clenching his jaw, Remus started back out of the clearing. "Let's go!" he called, knowing Severus wouldn't listen.

As predicted, Snape gave a dismissive humming noise and walked deeper into the clearing, leaving a trail of deep footprints. A panicky flutter started in Remus' chest. They needed to get out of here before Snape discovered something-

Suddenly the potions master swore. Remus groaned inwardly. "Remus!" the man called.

Remus shifted his weight nervously. "Snape. Please."

But Severus' movements were hurried, and he paid Remus no mind. He cleared a section of snow with a warming charm, and stepped back in shock.

Unable to withstand his curiosity, Remus jogged forward through the snow until he reached Snape's side. He glanced at the uncovered mud, and his chest tightened. There in the mud, was a conglomeration of prints. Paw prints. Bigger than Remus's head.

They stayed there, staring at the proof for a long moment before, in eerie synchronization, they both lifted their gazes to the large oak tree in the center of the clearing. It was noticeably less singed with a single black slash down the side. And up there. Very high. Remus could sense it more than he could see it. Dried blood. That's how they survived, then. Climbed a tree.

"Someone was bitten," Snape said in a low, surprisingly tired voice. They met eyes, and Snape raised an eyebrow.

After a moment, Remus huffed and crossed his arms defensively. "Oh, should I mention _I_ didn't do it?"

Shrugging, Severus turned back to the tree and chewed the inside of his lip. "The Lupus Magnus were here just a few weeks ago." Remus nodded, and Severus clenched his jaw, suddenly looking furious. He kicked at the snow. "Stupid children. Bloody menaces. I knew we should not have let those monsters pass through here."

Remus nodded, resolutely not reacting to the 'monster' comment. Because the Lupus Magnus were monsters, after all. They willingly embraced the animal sickening their hearts. Remus had come to the conclusion long ago that he was nothing like them. They should never have let them pass through here. "If you're done throwing a tantrum, Snape. We have a problem here."

Snape paused mid-stride and glared at him. "Some student is infected, Lupin, I think this is worth a tantrum. Can you tell how long ago it happened?"

Remus blinked. "What?"

"The biting. Do try to keep up. You knew it was out here somehow. It's a logical conclusion that there is some sort of magic that only you notice."

For a moment, Remus considered his reply. "It couldn't have been more than a single moon. Two days ago would have been their first time."

Severus pursed his lip. "Whoever it was must have figured out how contain themselves."

Apparently, Remus was not very good at keeping secrets, which was ironic, really. Snape was unraveling it all piece by piece. "How do you know it was a student?" he tried desperately, "Couldn't it have been someone from Hogsmead? Or maybe a teacher?"

Severus looked at him like he'd just drooled down his shirt. "Students are the only ones stupid enough to wander out here in the middle of the night and then not tell anyone when they're bitten by a werewolf."

That was a perfectly sound deduction, and Remus did not have anything to refute it. Instead, he chewed his cheek. His gaze fell back to the tree, to the branch with blood dribbling down the side like he was magnetized. He shivered. "They must have been terrified."

Severus nodded, grinding his jaw like he wanted to say something. But then he relaxed just slightly. "Probably still are."

Surprised, Remus glanced at him. That was a rare display of actually sympathy, if he wasn't mistaken. And given the uncomfortable look on Severus' face immediately afterwards, Remus did not think he was. Abruptly, Severus turned on his heels and clomped back through the snow. Remus watched him curiously before opening his mouth. "Where are you going?"

"Back to Hogwarts obviously. I have essays to grade."

Frowning, Remus had to hurry to catch up to the man. "You're going to tell Dumbledore?"

Snape ignored him for a moment before giving a smug shrug. "Perhaps," he replied shortly. "Or perhaps not. You see, that man has a way of sticking his nose in other people's business." A small smirk at this and then a look of sadness. "He likes control, Dumbledore does. He's already got Potter slotted. It would be highly irritating to be forced to protect _two_ pathetically disobedient students."

Remus's mouth fell open, and he wondered not for the first time the nature of the relationship between Snape and the Headmaster. He didn't quite understand what it was Dumbledore hung over Severus' head to keep Snape teaching. Severus had never enjoyed teaching. Maybe someday Remus would ask.

But not today.

Sudden words hit his mouth. "You have quite a bit of leverage over me, Severus," Remus said truthfully as they reached the trapdoor. "And, frankly, it terrifies me. You can very easily destroy the little bit of a life I have going on here, and I bet you half half a mind to do so."

Snape eyed him blankly. "To be honest, Remus, I could care less about you and your secrets."

The trap door opened, and Severus jumped down inside.

Remus leaned over the edge, almost, slightly, a bit offended. "Really?"

"For now, it is not an advantage to me to reveal your secret, and even disadvantageous to reveal the student's. More work for me. Until circumstances change, and either issue becomes more important, which I highly doubt, there is no reason for me to ruin your little lives. In the same breath, as much as it pains me to say it, you are more suited to finding and controlling the student than the rest of us."

Shocked, Remus stared down at him until Severus rolled his eyes and clomped away. It was not often Severus admitted anything. Remus hopped down into the tunnel and appraised the man. "You know, I don't actually find that encouraging. At all."

Severus smirked, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes. "It wasn't meant to be. If you show the slightest incapability to handle this problem, I go to Dumbledore. Likewise, I think you're keeping definitive information from me, I go to Dumbledore."

Remus, who had expected he might have attempt to Obliviate the man to keep this a secret, nodded. He could not really expect any more. "Fair enough."

With that, Snape nodded sharply and strode down the tunnel, leaving Remus more confused than before. After all these years, he still did not understand that man. Not in the least.

* * *

 ** _AN: Snape is difficult to write. Sometimes I find myself writing him too much like Sherlock Holmes, but they are different and I have to keep that in mind. Has any of you other writers ever had a hard time keeping a character IC? Who? Just curious. Anyway, please leave a review. And thank you to all of the people who_ have _left reviews and PMs and encouraged me to put up more of this story. Thanks for reading! I love it! See you next week!_**


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you alright, Fred?" Ginny cocked her head, looking down at her seated brother. He had been strange today. She wasn't quite sure what it was. He was no different than usual, albeit a bit tired, perhaps, but there was something else there. Repeatedly, she caught him staring into the distance with a glazed look in his eyes; like only half of him was present.

Speaking of other half's, George had been strange too. What were they up to? What had they done?

"Just tired," Fred replied with a rueful smile, legs crossed and seated on a rug before the fire. They were alone in the living room and snow fell softly outside. The fire cast a warm glow over their faces. Everyone else was in bed, and Ginny had been nearly asleep herself when she decided to come downstairs and see who's shadow was being cast up the stairs.

Honestly, Ginny did not know how to really talk to Fred and George. Ron was easier to understand, all bravado and pride. Her older brother Bill was easy to talk to as well. He was kind and gentle and used to pick her up upside down when she was little. Charlie was okay as well, although he could be a bit intimidating.

But Fred and George...

Ginny did not understand them at all. She could never quite decide whether they were joking or not. Usually, it was the former but every so often she figured they had to be being serious. The trouble was knowing when. Most of their conversations included her shouting at them for tricking her and them running away snickering.

So to see Fred alone, sitting in the living room without the barest hint of mischief in his eyes was disconcerting to say the least. Even more disturbing was that he had answered her question without any particular emotion at all.

He was not just tired.

She hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to him on the ground. Her blanket billowed up, and she patted it down. Fred glanced at her, surprised, and then, without a word, he looked away, seeming to accept her presence. They stared into the flames until the light was imprinted on their retinas.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Ginny shrugged. "What about you, yeah? Aren't you usually upstairs scheming with George about now?"

He shifted and offered a shrug as well. His eyes remained focused dully on the fire. "I just... needed a bit."

Frowning, Ginny scooched so she was facing him. She studied his face until he finally rolled his eyes and looked at her.

" _What_ , Ginny?"

Ginny pursed her lips. "You've done something bad, haven't you?"

Fred said nothing. He seemed to debate within himself before sighing. "It's... it's not really something I _did_. Just something that happened, you know?"

Ginny considered this. She nodded.

After a moment, he smirked and the brother she was accustomed to returned. "But, that's nothing you need to worry your ickle little brain about."

Rolling her eyes, Ginny punched him lightly and then pulled back when he flinched. Her eyes widened. "You're hurt?"

This time there was no mistaking the guarded wall that rose up around him. He shifted away from her. "I'm fine," he replied quickly. With an exaggerated yawn, he stood and offered a hand down to pull her up. Ginny took it and soon they were both standing. Ginny's blanket pooled on the floor at their feet. Squinting suspiciously at him, Ginny put her hands on her hips. "Whatever you and George have gotten up to, I won't tell Mom."

A short laugh and then, "It's not like that, Gin. Really, there's nothing to worry about." With that he yanked a loose ring of her hair gently, almost playfully, and left the room.

Pursing her lips worriedly, Ginny watched him go. "Liar."

* * *

Deep in a dark place full of creatures the rest of the world preferred to live in ignorance of, a pack of wolves lay in a cave lining the cliff face. Embers crackled within and kept them warm. The stone entrance was illuminated by half a moon, and the only sound were the occasional snarl or scrape of claws against stone as the wolves dreamed. They were asleep, and the rest of the forest relaxed for a moment.

But not all the wolves were asleep.

A smallish, black wolf's red eyes scanned the darkness dully as he rested his chin on his paws. His name was Fabian and once upon a time he was a young wizard.

Fabian was rather certain that biting the boy had been a mistake. Not that it was _wrong_ , per say. He hadn't killed him, had he? Something many of his companions would not have hesitated to do. No, just a mistake. None of the others in the pack had questioned him, and, in the moment, he had been far too filled with blood lust to stop himself even if he had wanted to.

But he still felt…

Growling, Fabian curled tighter in on himself and shut his eyes. They were supposed to be sleeping like the Alpha said.

But he wasn't sleeping. He was worrying incessantly about some stupid student that he was certain was _not supposed to be a werewolf._

Fabian had _not_ joined the Lupus Magnus by choice. He had been claimed. Alpha bit him, knowing that he was strong enough to survive the process. Not the _usual_ process but the other one. The one that now made it far more difficult for Fabian to maintain a _human_ form than it did a _wolf's_. Ironically, the full moon was easiest time to return to their original form. Reversed. Turned inside out. And whatever Alpha had done to him, it had felt just like that. Being pulled inside out. His skin on the inside and the wolf in the air. His bones. His skeleton.

It terrified him.

But at least they were not mindless. Most of them still had their morals.

A few.

The young.

It had only been seven months since he'd been ripped from his life. It was forever and yet just a short time.

How long before he became like the older ones? They ripped and growled and glared and hunted. Woe to anyone who got in their way. Human or not.

Those red haired boys had been unbelievably lucky that it was _he_ who'd gotten close first. He could have tried to climb the tree after them. He could have ripped the boy's foot off. Fabians stomach turned at the thought.

But the point was, Fabian hadn't. He'd let go the moment the other boy's irritating hex hit him and landed on top of the other, bloodthirsty wolves because he'd had just the slightest bit of himself within him at the time to hesitate. It was enough time for them to scramble up and enough excitement to sate his wolf. He hadn't killed the red haired boy. He'd just ruined his life.

 _You despicable creature._ Alpha could preach all he liked about the superiority of their pack; about the strength and freedom that came with the wolf. It did not change anything.

 _We're monsters._

Not because they were wolves, but because they didn't care.

That was what made them monsters.

But Fabian wanted to keep fighting back. What did that make him, then?

Careful to keep his tongue back from his teeth, Fabian moaned quietly into the dirt and stone. The air shifted, and he sensed someone standing above him. On reflex, his eyes shot open and he stood, stretching.

"Alpha," he murmured into the night in a language he was only newly familiar with. Alpha towered over him even when he stood at his full height. Grey and black like a storm cloud, the wolf eyed him heavily.

"Feuren," Alpha responded in a deep baritone. Fabian was his former name, technically. The wolves all called him Feuren now. With a terrifying sort of grace that came with great strength, Alpha sat. "The boy you bit. What was his name?"

Fabian's heart went cold. He knew the boy's name. Just like he knew that the boy loved candy and was always in trouble and was terrified of being without his brother. He knew that the boy could take a prank just a bit too far and that the boy knew this. Fabian knew all about him. It had all poured into his mind the moment he'd recovered his wits after the biting. And Alpha knew this. It was quite normal, apparently.

He couldn't lie. The older wolf would know. "Fred Weasley." Guilt twisted painfully in his gut. "His name is Fred Weasley."

Alpha nodded. "He was a strong boy?"

Fabian gave the semblance of a shrug. "Not particularly. And we are weeks away from the school by now."

A low growl. "Honesty, Fueren."

God, forgive him. "He was strong."

Alpha nodded sharply and stood. "Thank you." With that, the wolf melted into the night and lay back down to sleep.

Fabian's heart thumped painfully fast. Why did he always need more wolves?

He did not need to ask why Alpha wanted to know about Fred. He already knew exactly what the wolf was planning. Shaking with indecision, Fabian crept backwards into the shadows. This was his fault. He had done this. Fred Weasley was a werewolf because of him.

But the boy wasn't a Lupus. Not yet. As quietly as he could manage, Fabian stepped farther into the woods. If he had a say in it, not ever. With a deep breath, the wolf ran.

* * *

 ** _AN: The plot thickens! This one is a bit short but, hey, it's on time for like the first time in history. Anyway, please leave a review! I was blown away by your response to the last chapter and I'm so glad people are still reading this!_**


	10. Chapter 10

Fred pressed his back against the rough bark of the tree to catch his breath. The world spun, and he blinked rapidly. That was close. Too close. The snow was bright and white around him, and, in the distance, he could hear shouting. He'd been hiding out on the edge of the forest gathering ammunition until someone spotted his hair peeking over a snow drift.

Suddenly he froze, positive there was someone nearby. Where? His eyes flicked about, and, even though he saw no one, Fred's eyes zeroed in on a rather fat tree in front and to the left of him. There.

He felt a sudden tingling in his chest, and, without thinking, he ducked, and, at the same time, scooped up a projectile and threw it as hard as he could at the fat tree. Milliseconds later, a snowball came barrelling back at Fred. It collided with the tree just over his head and rained down, catching in his eyelashes.

"Merlin, Fred!" someone screeched. "How did you even do that?" Ginny stumbled out from behind the fat tree, her face red from the cold snow that had just collided with her face. She brushed the snow off her jacket and groaned, giving him a glare full of disgust. "It's going down my shirt."

Fred laughed and dodged another oncoming snowball. Brilliant. Right in the face. "Lucky shot."

Scooping up another few balls, Fred scrambled back through the forest toward the house, which twinkled with Christmas lights.

No one ever explained why their family celebrated Christmas instead of Yule, and Fred never bothered to ask. Honestly, he got to eat candy and make exploding christmas ornaments and have snowball fights and could care less whether or not they used the wizard or the muggle name for the holiday.

Speaking of snowball fights…

Fred ducked and a snowball flew over his head.

George shouted something profane from above him. Snickering, Fred skidded to a stop and smiled up at his brother, who hung upside down on a branch over his head. George's beanie slid off, and Fred caught it absent mindedly. He spun it on his finger. "You are a horrid shot."

"No, you're just fast. How did you see me?" George gestured wildly with his arms and his shirt started to fall over his head as well.

Which was a perfect moment for Ginny to shoot a snowball right at his stomach. George screeched and nearly fell from his perch. He scrambled up and righted his clothing. "Ginny, you little devil!"

Fred smiled at his sister, whose cheeks were still red. "We have taught you well."

Rolling her eyes, Ginny put her hands on her hips. She opened her mouth and then stopped. Someone was calling their names.

"MOTHER SAYS TO COME INSIDE!" that someone shouted.

Fred and George sighed simultaneously, and George slid down the tree and into Fred, who caught him sort of. It figured Percy would be the one to end the fun.

"I'm cold anyhow,"Ginny grumbled with a shrug, trudging back to the house. She shot over her shoulder. "Thanks to someone."

Fred smirked. "You're welcome!"

With that they mucked their way through the snow, their breath hanging in the air and their faces ruddy from the cold. As the walked, Fred tossed George back his hat. "You're ears are red," he noted.

"Uh huh," George grunted back, shoving the hat back onto his head. "And yours aren't?"

"Nope." Fred popped the P. To be honest, he wasn't that cold at all.

George opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he shut it again with a click.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's Christmas. You asked me not to."

Oh.

The excitement of the fight bled into the snow under their feet, and Fred forcibly shoved that issue out of his mind. He'd almost forgotten for a moment there.

He'd asked George not to talk about 'the problem'. Not on Christmas.

His brother glanced at him and distress colored his eyes. "Sorry. It's kind of hard not to think about it."

Fred shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. "It's better when I'm doing something."

"I know."

They reached the back door past the garden and knocked off their boots. Percy poked his head out, keeping his body behind the door. His eyes were suspicious, and his lips pursed fiercely.

Fred squinted at him, pulled off his shoe, and hopped on one foot until he found George's shoulder. "What's wrong with you?" he asked Percy.

Percy didn't say anything for a long moment, sort of expectant. Finally, he let out a surprised breath. "No surprise bombings? No sniper shot snowballs? Nothing?"

Fred and George glanced at each other. Of course. They'd quite forgotten the yearly tradition. Percy Pelting. "Ah," Fred started. "Well, you see, we have matured quite a lot this year."

For some reason, Percy didn't believe him. He snorted and closed the door. "That will be the day."

Fred smirked at George.

This was okay. He could keep busy. Not think about it. Today was Christmas, after all.

* * *

Fabian stared down at his paws. The forest was dark and cool and crisp around him. If he squinted he could see Hogwart's lights in the distance. Christmas Day. The boy wouldn't be here in all probability, but Fabian had no idea how to get to the boy's home and didn't have time to become lost. Alpha was not far behind, and he would not be happy. Fabian's stomach flipped in fear at the thought. Would he kill him for this betrayal? Probably.

But he'd have to catch him first. And Fabian had always been very fast.

Taking a deep breath, Fabian focused his mind reluctantly. He hated this part.

Hands. What did it feel like to have hands? He needed to remember. Cutting his finger on a knife. Holding his wand. Biting his nails.

Now his legs. Walking tall. Running. Pressing the bottoms of his boots into the supports at the back of his broom. Squishing his toes in the mud. Swinging on a tire swing. Tying his shoes.

Something clicked in the base of his being and a sudden agony ripped through him like he was being cut open down his back. He howled and his legs gave out. The snow and dirt met his snout and he screwed his eyes shut. Another pang hit him, longer and more intense than the first. He howled again, and this time it cracked and became a scream.

Shut up, he told himself sternly, grinding his teeth. They'll hear you. Seven more waves of agony and he began to feel his form shifting. His bones popping and shrinking, and he gasped. He kept his eyes shut as he felt his paws grow long. And then he was gripping the snow and leaves in his palms and sobbing into his chest.

He couldn't think.

Exhausted, Fabian laid there on the ground for a long time and tried to remember to breath.

This was so bloody messed up. Wrong. It shouldn't hurt to be like he was supposed to be. It wasn't always this bad, but he had been a wolf for months, and he didn't have the full moon to ease the change.

Finally, Fabian cracked open his eyes and stared rather dully at a brown leaf; the way it fluttered with each exhale from his nose. He blinked and slowly sat up. He lifted his hand and closed it into a fist. Open. Close.

He had freaking opposable thumbs.

His weak, watery laugh turned into a fit of coughs, and he winced at the pain.

Fabian had no idea how long he would be able to maintain this form before he reverted back. Probably only a few days. If he wanted to help, he needed to be fast. Fred would be back soon, surely. Careful lest he cause more pain, Fabian stood and supported himself with the trees while his legs remembered how to walk.

Barefoot and naked in the snow. Fabian shivered.

He looked in the direction of Hogwarts and tried to clear his foggy brain. Spikes of cold shot up his bare feet and he wrapped his arms around himself.

Clothes and shoes.

And then he needed a plan.

It took about a half hour to walk to Hogwarts and by that time, Fabian was shivering uncontrollably. Flashes of recognition jolted him sideways at the familiar grounds. His memory was rather spotty, he realized now. What house had he been in? Had he had friends? A sour anger curdled in his stomach. Not only had Alpha taken his body, but he must have messed with his mind as well.

It felt like it has been an eternity since he'd attended Hogwarts. Five years since he'd seen the sloping ground, the tall towers, the twinkling lights.

I was so lucky, he thought.

Stumbling out of the forest, Fabian looked up toward a small hut. Someone had hung their clothes to dry in an open window. The ground's keeper, right? Moving quietly and quickly was made more difficult by his aching bones, but Fabian crossed the snowed on garden with numb feet. Mouthing an apology, he snatched up the outfit and threw it over himself. Feeling like he was drowning in the clothes sewn for a much larger man, he picked up a rope coiled on the ground and used it as a belt to keep up the pants. For an odd moment, he was thrown back to when he was a child playing dress up in his dad's robes…

He still didn't have shoes, but the clothes were much warmer. Still shivering, Fabian crossed his arms over his chest and his vision spun for a moment. He groaned and leaned against the building. Would he always feel horrid in this form or would it fade? Fabian didn't know.

But he had not slept in two days, running in the forest most of the time, and hadn't eaten for longer.

In retrospect, that probably wasn't helping the situation.

Blinking bleary eyes, Fabian put his weight back into his ankles and began the ascent toward the castle.

* * *

 _ **AN: Ahh! More stuff is happening! Hope you guys enjoyed that. Please leave a review, I will love you forever.**_


	11. Chapter 11

Minerva McGonagall bunched her hat in her hand as she swept down the sidewalk. She cast a warming charm, and the snow melted before her. It was strange to see the empty courtyard. No students huddling about. No snowmen, no snowball fights.

It would all resume when the children returned tomorrow, and Minerva was not ashamed to admit she rather missed the mischievous charges of her house. Smiling to herself, Minerva reached the door and gave a last sweeping look over the white lawn without a single imperfection-

Accept for... that. Adjusting her glasses, Minerva squinted at the brown spec growing larger by the second. A man.

Suddenly the man stumbled and fell to his knees. He stayed there in the snow.

It took only an instant for Minerva to surpass her shock and act. Pursing her lips, she picked up her robes and crossed the lawn to meet the stranger. Wetness soaked into her boots. How did the man inside the grounds anyhow? "Sir?" She asked as she came closer. "Sir, are you alright?" Now close enough to see him clearly, Minerva stifled a gasp. The young man was pale as the snow around him, and his green eyes had an empty, glazed look as he looked somewhere over her shoulder. His skeletal form shook from the cold, and his hair fell into his eyes.

And Minerva was rather certain she recognized him. Just like she recognized all of her pupils. He has been rather good at transfiguration, she recalled.

"Mr. Gray?" she said, coming closer and lifting his chin. He burned with fever. He blinked and met her gaze uncomprehendingly. "Fabian?" She tried again.

Fabian gulped and nodded. His voice was raspy when he spoke, like it was the first word of the morning. "Help."

Mrs. Mcgonagall nodded. "Let's get you to Poppy's."

But Fabian shook his head quickly. The haziness cleared from his face. "Not me," he croaked. "I have to help him. I've got to- to..." And then the lucidity was gone. He collapsed forward into the snow like a marionette with cut strings, and Minerva caught him as gently as she could. He was wiry under his clothes. Quickly, she conjured a stretcher and levitated him into it. Fabian mumbled nonsense, but remained unconscious. What on Earth had done this to him? A flash of anger, and Minerva pushed her former charge off to Pompey's as quick as she could.

When she figured out who did this…

Well. They would receive their due reward.

* * *

Fred and George ducked simultaneously under their mother's wooden stirring spoon and snickered before grabbing a tart each and scrambling up the stairs. They high-fived halfway up, pressed against opposite walls to let Ginny, who was screaming for Mom to make Percy stop being a prat, pass between them. After that they took softer steps nearer and nearer to Percy's room.

"Hey, Percy!" While holding the hot tart, Fred called from outside of his brother's room. "Wanna try something?" George dug up a small bottle from his pocket and poured the contents onto Fred's tart.

"Do you take me for an idiot?" came the muffled response. "Go away."

"So you're not even just a bit hungry?"

"I _said_ go away!"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you through this thick old door. Can you say that again?"

"GO AWA-"

Suddenly his voice cut off, and Percy coughed rather violently from within. Fred met George's eyes and grinned. Just like they planned, the spell activated once the victim said the same thing three times.

"What did you do to me?" said an extremely high pitched voice followed by a gasp and then angry steps. George made to skedaddle but Fred grabbed the back of his brother's collar and pulled him back.

"Merry Christmas!" Fred called.

George huffed irritably. "Now can we run?"

"Yep."

The door slammed open but the twins were long gone. Ah yes, Christmas was always a delight.

* * *

A few days later:

Hermione Granger struggled to pull her suitcase onto the train after her. The fabric caught on the step, and she had to tug extra hard, only to have it suddenly come free. She fell backwards into the old woman who always carried the sweets cart. "Oh goodness, my apologies!" Hermione straightened and brushed her clothes off. She sighed inwardly. This day had been one fumble after another. This morning her cat spilt her cereal down her skirt, Hermione had nearly forgotten to grab her favorite copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , and her mother got lost in traffic on the way here.

The sweet cart lady smiled. "Would you like some treats?"

"No, thank you. I mean, yes, thank you, but not right at this moment." She chuckled nervously, inside kicking herself for sounding like an idiot. Before the woman could reply, Hermione edges past her with her suitcase and walked down the center hallway. The train was usually one of her favorite parts about going to Hogwarts. It always smelled like cinnamon inside, and she had many fond memories of playing games with Ron and Harry. However, Ron and Harry were not here this time. They were still at Hogwarts. Hermione imagined she would either end up sitting in between some of the Gryffindor girls and suffering through hours of their talk about hair and perfume, or she would end up alone feeling rather pathetic and silly and bookish.

She opened a few cabin doors, looking for an empty one, but no luck. Everything was filled to the brim. A few people waved at her, but they were too crowded to invite her inside. With her suitcase rolling over little bumps on the walkway, Hermione muttered to herself as she reached the last cabin. She opened it, and saw, to her surprise, only one individual within. He snapped a yoyo back and forth with expertize and turned to look at her with a wiry smile. "Hermione. Fancy meeting you here." Hermione waited half a second for him to follow that remark with something obnoxious and vaguely insulting, but he just slapped the yoyo into his palm.

"Hi, um..." She blushed, once more not knowing his name. She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry. It must be so irritating to have people always mixing you and your brother up."

The Weasley twin laughed lightly. "Eh, we take it in stride." He gestured at the seats around him. "Are you just here to enjoy the view or do you need a seat?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'll take the seat." She opened the screen wider and tugged her suitcase in. Glancing up at the ceiling rack, she pursed her lips and wondered how on earth she would lift her heavy case up.

"Here," the twin said. He muttered something and suddenly her suitcase drifted off the ground and bounced on the ceiling. She rounded on him out of habit.

"You're not supposed to use magic on the train!"  
He gave her an incredulous look and poked the suitcase so that it drifted onto the rack. He was tall enough that he did not even need to stand on his toes. "When has anyone ever listened to that rule?"  
"That is inconsequential," Hermione answered automatically. "The amount of people who choose to obey or disobey a law has no relation to the existence of the law itself."

"I disagree. If no one follows a rule and there is no way to punish people, then it has no power. And a rule that can't be enforced is just someone's opinion."

There was a beat of stunned silence. The twin seemed as surprised by his words as Hermione.

Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it again, unsure how to respond. She had… not expected that. Actually, she hadn't expected any sort of reasonable response at all. The twins were not known for their mental capacity.

The twin looked distinctly uncomfortable, like he'd just realized what he'd said. "But, you know, whatever," he finished lamely. He smirked cheekily. "Did you know you go all red when you realize your wrong?"

Now, that was more expected. Hermione sat down with a huff. "I'm not wrong."

"Course not, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that."

"Sweetheart."

He slumped back in the seat across from her and picked up his yoyo again. Hermione searched for a response. Eventually, she rolled her eyes and nodded with mild irritation at her suitcase.

"What kind of lightening charm is that anyway?"

He squinted up at the case and shrugged. "I think I'm saying it a bit wrong or something. My suitcase floated for two days when I tried it on mine."

Hermione opened her mouth in protest.

"But-" he interrupted. "I think it's better now. Hopefully."

"Hopefully."

He snapped the yoyo out and swung it idly around his elbow and back again, a strangely complex looking maneuver. "So… not that I am ungrateful to be _graced_ by your presence, but don't you have ikkle third years you usually sit with?"

Hermione pursed her lips, not offended by his question. She noted to herself that she still didn't know which twin he was. "Ron and Harry are at school. And…" She wrinkled her nose. "I prefer to limit my exposure to Lavender and Paviti." He raised an eyebrow in question, but she did not explain. "Anyway, why aren't you with _your_ friends?"

The twin snorted and spoke matter-of-factly. "George and some other blokes are trying to plant a dung bomb in the girl's bathroom that turns colors to match the emotions of the people it effects." The twin who must be Fred shrugged. "It's my turn to stay out of it so someone can have plausible deniability when they blame us."

Hermione blinked. "… Oh."

Fred cocked his head, eyes alight with humor. "So, ah, I would probably not go in there if I were you."

Hermione snorted and nervously tittered with the edges of her sleeves. She should probably get into her school robes at some point…

He squinted with mock suspicion. "Are you going to tell on me, miss teacher's pet?"

She considered this and then shrugged. "If that lightening charm sticks for two days, I might."

Laughing, Fred flicked his wand at the suitcase, and it settled into the rack. "Luckily, it seems I'm getting the hang of that charm anyhow." He replaced his wand into his sleeve and brought out a deck of cards. He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Fancy a game? George jinxed this deck, though. The red ones melt into jam if you move too slowly."

Shaking her head at the ridiculousness, Hermione chuckled and got down cross-legged on the floor. "I don't see why not."

Fred grinned and followed suite. He shuffled the deck expertly and dramatically. "Right, so you've probably played Exploding Snap. This game is a bit like that, except you _want_ the cards to explode, and, oh don't touch those yet. The blue cards turn you into an animal for a few minutes if you pick up at the wrong time." He laughed.

Hermione's eyes widened, but a smile curved her lips. "I've never heard of a game like that."

"Course not." He dealt without looking up. "I made it up."

* * *

George flew down the hallway of the moving train, cackling. The shrieks of females along with wisps of multicolored smoke followed him. He zipped past several terrified first years, and nearly bowled over a blonde, colorful looking Ravenclaw. She looked after him with large, slow blinking eyes. "Have you done something funny, George?" she asked after him calmly.

George shot a smile and a salute back at the younger girl, inwardly wondering how she knew it was him. "Nothing they can prove!" He continued on his dash toward the back of the train. He wanted to be as far as possible from the scene of the crime as possible. Finally, he reached the cabin Fred was waiting in. At the last moment, his twin had opted out of participating in their most recent work of mischief, a fact that had George worried. He threw open the screen, not really sure what he'd see, and froze in surprise.

"Um, Fred? What's going on here?"

Fred was on the floor bent over in laughter; laughter George had not heard in… ages. Something eased inside him. Before Fred sat a curly haired, vaguely irritated… rabbit. Fred swallowed his laughter and whipped his eyes.

"Oh. Hello, George," he said through snickers. "You're back."

"Yeah," George replied distracted.

Fred managed to get a hold of himself enough to sit up normally. "How'd it go?" He smiled.

George blinked, still confused. "Um… it went rabbit. I-I mean, it went fine. Uh, why is there a-?" Suddenly, where the rabbit was sitting was a familiar girl. George jumped. She wrinkled her nose.

"Alright, ew, that was a weird one."

"I dunno," Fred replied with a smirk. "The duck was interesting."

"Her-Hermione?" George's mouth dropped open. He rounded on his brother, aghast. This was Miss Tattletale! " _Fred_! What are you-?"

"It's okay!" Hermione interrupted. "We're playing a game."

"A… a game. Oh. Alright." George crossed his arms and leaned against the door post. "Wait, _what_?"

Fred ignored him. "She has had the worst luck, George. I mean, a duck, a rabbit, a squirrel, a terrier-"

Hermione sniffed and crossed her arms. "He's forgetting to mention the frog, salamander, toad, bat, and platypus he picked up."

Fred rolled his eyes. "You're such a snitch."

Finally, a smile crept up George's face. He snickered, imagining Fred as a platypus with a little tuft of red hair. "We could have used a platypus a bit back. Could have been a calling card."

Before anyone could respond, the train screeched to a stop, and George had to catch himself on the other door post to keep from falling. Hermione scrambled to her feet and peered out the window. Panic fell into her eyes. "Oh gods, we're here! _Fred_! You distracted me! I didn't get into my robes!"

"Better hurry."

Cursing, Hermione climbed up onto the seat and tugged her robes out of her bag. She brushed past George with a good natured huff of exasperation and was gone. George leaned into the hallway. "I'd… um, use the other bathroom!"

She spun on her heels and stomped in the other direction.

Fred stood, and they watched her. As soon as she was out of sight, George turned to Fred with a raised eyebrow.

Fred returned the gesture. "What?"

"Nothing," George shrugged. He studied his twin's face and squinted. "You… you don't… you know…?"

"Don't be ridiculous, George," Fred interrupted. "She's, like, two years younger than me. Practically a child." He continued looking down the hall.

George nodded slowly, undecided whether he believed him or not. He stuck his lip out casually. "Alright then. It's just, you're immature enough it might even out and-"

"You can shut up now."

George snickered but dropped the issue. Hermione came back down the hall flicking her hair haughtily over her shoulder. She paused in front of the Weasley twin's and cocked her head expectantly. "Well? Come on, you're going to miss the carriages."

The twins glanced at each other and then shrugged. They filed out of the cabin and followed the younger Gryffindor to the exit.

* * *

AN: Please review for adorable little freddie here.


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